


A Wolf In The Sand

by notpmaHleM



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Gladiator!Jon, I mess with the timeline, Incest, Jon Snow goes to Meereen - Freeform, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Porn With Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-06-27 15:34:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 54,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15688317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notpmaHleM/pseuds/notpmaHleM
Summary: I did what I thought was right. And I got murdered for it.He died. He was resurrected. Coping with that betrayal, additional information upends him again and sends him to the last place anyone would expect him to go. In search of Dragons.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Characters are not mine. 
> 
> I bend the timelines for season 6 how I need to in order to get the characters where I want them. I’m also taking liberties and picking and choosing from show and book.
> 
> There’s not enough words to express my gratitude for  
> jalen_mara. She let me throw a messy bunch of ideas at her and helped me sort through them. Then told me I could do it. She’s amazing and she’s brilliant and if nothing more ever comes out of fandom, then I’m grateful for her friendship

§§§§§§§§§§§§§

 

 

### 

###  **Forever, and ever** **  
****The scars will remain** **  
****I'm falling apart** **  
****Leave me here forever in the dark** **  
**  Give Me A Sign by Breaking Benjamin

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~

  


The fire was crackling in the hearth, casting shadows on the dark walls, throwing out a feeble warmth in defense of the cold. It didn’t reach Jon from where he sat, staring into the flames, despite every instinct warning him against it. Night blindness could catch a man unawares, get a man killed.

 

It almost made him chuckle, as if _that_ would get a man killed. No, trying to keep thousands of people from being slaughtered would.

 

He was hollowed out inside, empty like a corn husk, void of any substance. He could remember the words _For The Watch,_ the feeling of a knife sliding through skin, slick as through butter, sharp as Longclaw. Looking up at the black of night, the sound of Ghost trying to rattle to door off its hinges. Then….

 

Ghost nudged his hand, bringing him back into the moment, the snapping of the fire, the sound of his breathing. In. Out. In. Out. Feeling the burn of anger inside his chest. The thoughts in his head were a jumbled mess, tangled together like threads of yarn. Hopelessly knotted. Maybe it was better to throw it away and start anew.

 

“Jon?”

 

His attention snapped to the older man sitting by the fire. Ser Davos was watching carefully, as if he half expected Jon to fall over dead again. Jon half expected it also, to be truthful.

 

“What next?”

 

It was an endless question, reaching out forever, _what next_ , and he did not know. Before, he had the Watch to fall back on, but now he was adrift, his family all dead or hostage, what was supposed to be his family, his chosen brothers had killed him.

 

He was alone and it was terrifying.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

And that was not entirely the truth. He did know. He wanted to run feral through Castle Black, he wanted to maim men, run them down and sink his fangs into… Jon shook his head, trying to displace his thoughts, looking down at Ghost.

 

He had told Ser Davos that he remembered nothing, that it was a void of black, but that had not been the complete truth. It had been a nothingness, a void, no gods in the afterlife as everyone told themselves. But it had also been more than just that, like one of his wolf dreams, seeing himself laid out on the table, watching Melisandre perform her ritual. Feeling the anger feed through him, but it wasn’t the same anger that flowed through him as a man, no, it was wild, no rational thought of right or wrong. It was the basic needs to protect, to kill and it almost frightened him.

 

Almost.

 

Except, he had been betrayed and murdered and somehow seen it all through the eyes of his direwolf. And he was not sure if he had _seen_ it or if it was a memory he pulled from Ghost. Either way, it made him feel different, unbalanced as if he was standing at the edge of a bottomless abyss, contemplating the decision to jump. He had carried out his justice, exacted his revenge and was still restless, ready to crawl out of his skin at any given provocative.

 

“Are you staying here then?”

 

Jon snapped his gaze up, fighting the beast inside of him that was hackled up, teeth snarling in self defense. “I don’t know. I know I cannot, not after what happened, but I’m not sure where to go.”

 

The confession lifted a slight weight off his chest and he took a deep breath, grateful for the sensation of filling his lungs. _Where does one go after he is no longer part of the Watch?_ His shoulders felt lighter without the heavy clock of leadership adorning them, but he also felt exposed, all of his soft spots vulnerable.

 

“I don’t think I will either.” Ser Davos gave an understanding look. “I suppose I can go home now, see if it is still there. You’re welcome to come with me.”

 

The offer was appreciated, soothing some of his rough edges even though he wasn’t sure if it was something he could do. No, he knew it wasn’t something he could not do.  “Thank you. I will think about it.”

 

They were both aware that it was not an option.

 

“Or if you’re planning on anything else I might be stayin’ for the duration of it.”

 

Knuckles cracked at he flexed his fingers, absently noted the scars adorning the skin stretched tight and he heaved a sigh. He _knew_ what needed to be done. He was no longer sure he had it in him. “The Night King is comin’. That hasn’t changed.”

 

“No, I suppose not. So what are we going to do about it?”

 

The _we_ was something that blossomed in his chest, something that felt close to hope, but he pushed that away, shoving it back down behind the despair. It did no good to get one’s hopes up. Things like that would get a man killed.

 

“Right now I don’t know.” He blew out another frustrated breath. He’d need to talk with Edd, to Tormund, knew that even with the Freefolk, it wasn’t enough. _It’s never enough._ Looking up he tried to give Davos a small smile, reassure the man that he hadn’t gone completely numb to it all. “Come up with a new strategy?”

 

“Easy as that then?”

 

His laugh was a dry and brittle sound, ready to turn to dust and blow away with the wind. _How do you stop an army of dead men?_ “Aye, as easy as that.”

  


~~~~~~~~~~~~

  


“You should still be wearin’ this.”

 

Edd’s voice pulled him out of his endless stare of the overwhelming number of books on the shelves in the library. He needed to see if any held any sort of information that might help and he was not sure where to start. Sam was better at this but he had sent Sam off. Davos had offered, taken an armful back up to his room with the warning that he was slow reader.

 

“No I shouldn’t.”

 

“You’re the better man for this.”

 

_The sharp taste of anger, of betrayal, sitting on his tongue. The sharp ringing of Longclaw pulling free of the scabbard. The creaking of ropes twisting tight. The gurgling of dying men. A dying boy._

 

“I think we were proven otherwise.” The wounds on his chest gave a throb to remind him of that, taunting him cruelly. As if he was in danger of forgetting it.

 

A rustle of fabric and the shift of wind alerted them to another presence. Jon felt another tangle of emotions he did not want to examine when Melisandre stepped through the door.”

 

“Lord Commander.”

 

Edd’s eyebrows raised at the Red Woman’s tone. She managed to make it a greeting and a dismissal and unease crawling down the back of Jon’s neck as Edd stood, nodding his understanding.

 

The breath left his lungs with the departure of the Lord Commander and he fought the urge to fidget like a child at their lessons. There was a movement from his side then the large head of Ghost was pushing into his hand. He curled his fingers into the shaggy fur, some of the tension in his shoulders loosening. The Direwolf was reluctant to leave his side as of late and Jon had no qualms about the giant white shadow at his back.

 

“Hiding is unlike you Jon Snow.” She settled into a chair across the table, a finger trailing down the cracked binding.

 

“And how do you know what I am like, or unlike?” The smile was forced, not friendly and his face felt like it would crack with the effort.

 

“Don’t act coy. You know who you are even if you are pretending it’s not there. You have a role to play in the Great War. You cannot hide from it.”

 

There was an ache in his jaw from clenching it so tightly, the words forced out from behind his teeth. “I am not hiding.”

 

The blue eyes narrowed at him. “You have a duty-“

 

“What if I don’t want this duty? Nobody asked me about it. And yet, I’ve been chosen?” The rage was bitter in his mouth, coating his tongue with a burn. He was exhausted, mind and body, tired of fighting, of the feeling of having to watch his back, of not knowing who to trust. Of having everyone looking to him to figure it all out.

 

He’d almost found escape of it. The blackness that could consume him could be a relief from all of this. It would no longer be his problem to solve, let the rest of the world sort it out. He gave brief pause to the thought of leaving this desolate land, boarding a ship, visiting the lawless lands across the Narrow Sea, letting this place fend for itself.

 

“The Lord Of Light is not done with you yet Jon Snow.”

 

The steady tone of the red witch was the feeling of nettles in his skin, digging in with a bite, grating and chafing. “What does he want with me? Tell me that.”

 

The sigh she let out he could almost feel, even across the expanse of scarred and well used wood.

 

“I cannot see that clearly, but you are important. As is another. You are ice Jon Snow and your counterpart is fire.”

 

“What does that mean?” It was like trying looking at the bottom of a stream that someone had walked through, stirred up with mud and silt, not leaving a clear view.

 

“You ask too many questions.”

 

“You don’t give enough answers.”

 

It was a silent standoff, his fingers curling with agitation at her almost amused look. As if this was some jest instead of lives being at stake.

 

She broke first, standing and smoothing down her robe. “You will soon have answers. And you may find that you did not want them.”

 

With that cryptic parting blow she left, closing the door behind her and Jon took a deep breath, allowing his lungs to fill and hold the air before letting it go, trying to relax along with it.

 

Her words left a cold chill in his gut. Trying to ignore it, he picked up a book, opened it up, stared blankly at the page while his mind tried to decipher the puzzle of her words.

 

_Ice and fire._

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

  


There was an ache behind his eyes, the throbbing in his head not lessening with another cup of ale. He tossed a bit of bread at Ghost, lips twitching as it was devoured without tasting it and then the look of betrayal from the red eyes at it not being a strip of meat from his plate.

 

He should have dined with the rest, but could not bear the weight of all their eyes on him, the unspoken questions sitting on their tongues. His appetite was sparse as it was, the staring made him lose it all together.

 

The quiet was ruined with a knock at the door, hesitant and muffled. Out of reflex, Jon grabbed for Longclaw, muscles tightening in defense. “Who is it?”

 

Instead of Davos or Edd like he expected, there was the timid voice of one of the Watch’s newest members. An orphan, _like Olly._

 

“There is a man here to see you. A Lord Reed.”

 

Jon shook his head trying to clear it of any residual prejudice against young Kevan, _he was not Olly_ and instead concentrated on the name of his visitor.

 

_Lord Reed?_

 

It was there, a tickle in his mind, the familiarity of the name just out of his grasp. Belatedly he realized he was still staring at the closed door and sheathed Longclaw, reassured by the sound of it sliding back into leather. Ghost raised his head up in curiosity but deeming the visitor a non threat, dropping back to the floor.

 

He opened the door to the wide eyes of the boy and a man he did not know. The man was small and wiry, looking agile and adept even with his age, which Jon guessed to be close to his father’s. What his father’s would be, if still he were alive. The look of the man did not spark any remembrance.

 

“You are Jon Snow?”

 

The man was peering at him, as if he already knew him and instead of bristling at it, he was just more confused by it.

 

“Yes.”

 

The cold wind was blowing again, pushing it’s way through the open door. Jon hardly felt it, long frozen in this desolate place but noticed the shivers running through the two in front of him. “Forgive my manners. Thank you Kevan. Come back in a bit. Lord Reed, please come in.”

 

Closing the door again, Jon motioned to a chair, taking his own back. Ghost finally stirred enough to sniff the man’s boots before rolling his eyes to Jon and yawning.

 

“Should have known a Stark would have a Direwolf at his feet.”

 

Jon snapped his gaze up from Ghost to the man sitting there, the unwelcome jealousy crawling back up to settle around him at the mention of the name. “I’m not a Stark.”

 

“Oh but you are, boy.” The man leaned forward, again studying Jon’s features. “I’m Howland Reed. I knew Ned Stark from the time we were young boys.”

 

_The Rebellion. Howland Reed had accompanied his father to try and rescue Lyanna Stark._

 

A foreboding wave came over him, taking him off balance, leaving him unsettled in its wake. “My father spoke of you, on the rare occasions he ever spoke of the Rebellion.”

 

The man gave a small sad smile. “Ned was a dear friend.”

 

Jon sat in silence, trying to come up with one reason a man from the Neck would be at the Wall. Lord Reed seemed to be content to let him ponder until he couldn’t take the silence. “It is always nice to meet someone who knew my father, but I must admit, I’m not sure why you are here?”

 

The man seemed to hesitate as if looking for the words to say and another layer of apprehension settled around him, mouth going dry with the weight of it in his chest.

 

“I have something for you from your brother.”

 

The words were like a sharp slap, the sting of loss suddenly thrown back at him and he struggled against it, his reawakened heart pounding madly. “My brother is dead.” His voice cracked, hoarse and broken.

 

“I am so sorry for all of your loss. I truly am.” Reed reached into his jacket, pulling out rolled parchment with the Stark sigil pressed into the wax. “And there is no easy way to do this. I received this after his death.”

 

The air left him in a rush, leaving him gasping as it was pressed to his hand. “Do you know what it is?”

 

“Yes. But I advise you to open it and confirm what I know.”

 

Trembling hands broke the seal, tears springing up at the sight of Robb’s familiar handwriting, thrown viciously into the memory of them as children, taking their lessons, trying to hurry through bookwork so they could race each other outside for their lessons with Ser Rodrik.

 

Trying to wipe at his eyes discreetly, Jon read the words, disbelief coursing through his veins, abused heart skipping at the volley of information. He read it again, trying to absorbed it all before he looked back up.

 

“Robb made me his heir?”

 

“So it seems.”

 

A strangled sound left his throat, his hand rubbing over his face as he tried to make sense of it all. “What do I do with this?”

 

“I am confident that you’ll figure that out.”

 

Jon was not sure how many times his heart could break, how many times he could recover from it, but felt the pain return to settle there, overwhelming on his already raw sense.

 

“I have more to tell you, I believe, if you can bear it?”

 

_No._

 

He wanted to throw the man out, lick his wounds in private, but instead he found himself nodding, voice having left.

 

“What did Ned tell you about your mother?”

 

That look was back on Reed’s face and Jon felt his hackles rise up, that ache in his chest that had sat dormant, never completely going away, pulsing inside of him. He bared his teeth in a snarl, Ghost rolling up and alert. “What kind of trick is this? My father never said anything about my mother.”

 

“Ned loved your mother, very much.”

 

“Really?” His word was colored by the hostility he was feeling. How much of this was he supposed to take before he broke under the burden of it? “He loved her so much that he never spoke a word of her to anyone?”

 

“Yes. She made him promise to keep you safe. And he did.”

 

“Safe from what?” The pounding returning in his head. “ I feel like we are just speakin’ in riddles here.”

 

“At the end of the rebellion, Ned learned that his sister Lyanna was in Dorne and we rode to get her. When we arrived we found the Kingsguard there, Rhaegar’s very best knights were sitting in door while their king had been dying somewhere else.”

 

“I’m not sure why you are tellin’ me this. It is known that he brought Lyanna’s body back north with him.” But the thread of presage was building through him at Reed’s words. Because if the man was telling him this now, then maybe Ned Stark had kept a bigger secret. And Jon was not sure if he wanted to know it.

 

“I’m telling you this because you need to hear it. And I might be the only one left who knows the truth of it. What Ned found in that tower was his sister dying from childbirth. She made him promise to keep her son safe, her’s and Rhaegar’s.”

 

 _No, don’t tell me this. Do not say it._ Jon could feel the bile rise in the back of his throat, a panic settling deep within him and he fought the urge to cover his ears, block out the man’s voice.

 

“So he took that boy home, gave him a different name and raised him as his own.”

 

 _I am not Ned Stark son._ The realization was like a blow to the face. Like another knife to the chest. Something to send him back into the black abyss of nothing. _Everything I know is a lie._ He grasped at the edges of himself, trying valiantly to hold himself together, latched onto the least important detail. “So I’m Sand, not Snow.”

 

It was not a question, just the stunning realization of everything he knew was a lie. Ned Stark had lied to him. He was not even born of the north.

 

“No.”

 

Howland Reed’s voice broke him out of his dark spiral and he looked up in surprise, unsettled that he could even be more surprised than he was. His anger rising at the man who was currently dismantling everything he’d ever known. “Everyone knows that Rhaegar Targaryen stole Lyanna Stark and if I was born of that.” Something inside of him numbed at the thought. “Born in Dorne, then I’m a Sand.”

 

“No. Ned told me what happened as we left. They were married. She ran away with him. You are a true born Targaryen.”

 

The air left him in a hurry, leaving him dizzy, off balance. He took a gasping breath, then another trying to regain some semblance of control. “This cannot be true.”

 

“But it is. I wish he had given you the truth of it, but he could not. Your life depended on it. Robert Baratheon would have had you murdered in your crib and Ned Stark’s love for his sister was too great for that. He gave his word to her.”

 

“And he let me come up here to rot.” There was a bitterness coating the inside of his mouth, a resentful wall building against any good memories he had of the man he thought his father. A part of him understood, deep down where his sanity had retreated, understood that he would have died without Ned’s greatest secret, biggest lie. But a violent reaction was building inside of him, waiting to snap, to dismantle anything in his path. He curled his fingers into his palms.

 

“I cannot speak on his decision for that, but he loved your mother and he loved you. That is all I know.”

 

The muddle of information was making his wits slow, like slogging through mud as he tried to lay out the information, to make sense of it instead of hiding from it. “You’re lyin’. Rhaegar already had a wife.”

 

“Annulled and remarried. There is record of it all if someone spent the time to find it.”

 

“Is that even allowed?” His hand wrapped around the back of his neck, fingers pushing in where he could feel the knots of tension. He was strung tight as a rope, as a noose. The morbid thought almost had him chuckling in madness. _Maybe he really was a Targaryen_.

 

“It was. Apparently. Ned got bits and pieces from Lyanna and the rest of the information from her handmaiden. And I’m sure I don’t have it all and I’m sorry for that.”

 

His laugh was humorless. “Why? You’ve already told me more than my fa-, then Ned Stark ever did.”

 

“He wanted you safe Jon. Safe from Robert Baratheon’s wrath.”

 

He was floundering in icy water, chest paralyzed with the cold of truth, drowning in the lie he had believed all his life. “I think I need a few moments please.”

 

Lord Reed stood, a look of sorrow across the man’s face. “Of course. I am sorry that I was the one to give you all this. Please, if you need anymore information or just have questions, come and get me. But for now I’m going to go find supper and a bed.”

 

Jon forced himself to stand and open the door, call out to young Kevan and ask him to show Howland Reed to his chamber, make sure he was fed.

 

Once the footsteps faded away, he threw his fist out, letting it collect solidly with the thick wood, the pain reverberating up his arm, dulling the pain in his chest.

 

Ghost came up to him, leaning into his side, the heavy weight of the wolf keeping him from falling apart as he pressed his forehead into the door.

 

_How was this possible?_

  


~~~~~~~~~~~~

  


_Who was he?_

 

The question kept circling around in his mind. A cruel familiar taunt, but now even more complex. What he thought he knew was wrong, everything was wrong.

 

The fact that Robb had decreed him to be King in the North was hardly even crossing his thoughts, instead sitting behind the turmoil of other revaluations, his mind was whirling like a strong cold wind, twisting and turning, chilling him down to the marrow of his bones.

 

He pressed his fingers to his eyes, in hopes of relieving the ache that had taken up residence there. This new knowledge was an overload to his already taxed mind. The rage living inside of him leaving him drained of energy. He needed to concentrate on the Army of the Dead, not be caught up in the turmoil of being a secret Targaryen prince.

 

Gods, a Targaryen. It was hard to believe since he lacked their features. He had been told so many times as a boy how he had the Stark features. He thought wistfully for a moment of Maester Aemon. The man would have been what, a Great Uncle? Great Great? He shook his head, it mattered not, though the old man would have probably enjoyed the knowledge of it.

 

But that did not matter now, because now he needed to figure out what to do. He did not have the time to dwell on the fact the man he thought was his father, had lied to him, could not focus on the feeling of betrayal. No. Now he needed to figure out what to do, figure out how to fight the war to come. And what to do about Winterfell? He was named heir by his brother… cousin... Would retaking Winterfell help them in the Great War? Could it provide sanctuary for those who would need it? Would it help ease the rage inside?

 

He lay back against his pillows, rubbing a hand over his face, ignoring the rock of despair sitting in his gut. Pretended that anger didn’t boil in his veins. How could he alone, convince everyone that there was a more pressing matter than a Lannister on the Iron Throne? Most of Westeros would never believe him. And he needed more people.

 

From the dark crevices of his memory, Maester Aemon’s voice spoke. It was something that the old Maester had said to Sam as he had came through the door. He had heard it and dismissed it because at the time it was not important. It did not apply to him or what he was doing.

 

But now?

 

 _A Targaryen alone is a terrible thing_.

 

Maester Aemon had been talking about Daenerys Targaryen, who would be his Aunt, close to his age if he remembered the stories correctly. Again, it was a detail not important, but what was important was the fact she had three dragons.

 

He remembered standing on top of that wall, looking down at Mance’s army and wishing for a dragon. _Or three_. He would think the Gods to be full of tricks, cruel jesters, if he knew there weren’t any Gods, that he might have just had a solution to their problems dropped into his lap.

 

Dragons could help him win the Great War. Dragons could change everything.

 

From within his jumbled thoughts an idea took root, fed by his anger and despair, growing like a fed flame as he thought it out. It was certainly a mad plan, but mad enough it could work.

 

He sat up, lighting a candle and crossed, bare chested, scars on display as if to say, _look, look what happens when you try to do the right thing_ , to the table in his room. He needed to get a raven to Sam.

 

He needed to find out if this was the truth.

  


~~~~~~~~~~

  


Howland Reed was saddling a small hardy sorrel when Jon found him the next morning, after a long restless night. He felt the clutch of betrayal, the man shoving all this information at him and then leaving without another word?

 

“Jon.”

 

The man had spotted him and called out, face creased, haggard from the lack of sleep. Jon was sure he looked no better.

 

“You are leaving?” It sounded like an accusation, like he was hurt by it and Jon cleared his throat, trying to get a grasp on himself.

 

“Not going far. I was going to see if anyone had word of my children. They came this way.”

 

“I didn’t know.” Thrown off balance and confused, trying not to lash out at the man undeserving of his wrath, he raised his chin stubbornly. “Do you have time to spare?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Lord Reed’s voice was gentle and Jon felt a shuddering in his chest, feeling like like his armor was the only thing keeping him from falling apart. Turning silently he strode across the wet muck of snow and mud, ignoring those who watched him, leading the way back to the library.

 

Jon waited until Howland Reed settles into a chair, peeking around the corners to make sure they were truly alone and made himself sit down, even though he was spooky as an unbroken horse.

 

“Lord Reed, while revisiting the information you gave me last night, a thought occurred to me. This decree was written by Robb, my brother-“ because he was. Even with the truth coating him, Jon could never think of Robb as anything but his brother. “and he died some time ago.” The thought of it ripped another hole in his chest, sore and weeping with the agony of it, a fresh wave brought on by the new knowledge of his lineage.

 

“I received it after your brother’s murder. And then, I did not quite know what to do with it. I ask forgiveness for that, but you were here. But knowing your true parentage paired with this information, you needed this information… Do you realize that you’re the heir to the Iron Throne?”

 

“I am not.” The words snapped out of him, other coating of red anger around him. “It no longer belongs to the Targaryen’s.” It was hard to wrap his tongue around that name, even more so when it now included _him_.

 

“I think that you should at least consider Winterfell. It’s not right that it is no longer under a Stark.”

 

“I am not a Stark.”

 

“You are just as much Stark as anything else.” The pause was thick. “You look like her.”

 

“Who?” A stupid question, he knew exactly whom Lord Reed was referring. He did not want to admit the small thrill it gave him to finally know, because the thrill seemed unfit a reaction for the situation.

 

“She was wild and stubborn. Courageous. I listened to stories last night Jon and it seems like you might have some of her nature in you.”

 

Tears stung his eyes, confusion with trying to sort out it all out. He had always wanted to know and now that he did, he partly wished that he was still ignorant. He could barely make out the shape of the other man when he stood, patting Jon’s hand.

 

“I’ll leave you be.”

 

Jon sat there, frozen to the spot, rumpling Ghost’s ears when the Direwolf placed his head in his lap.

 

“Jon.”

 

He looked back up.

 

“She named you Aegon.”

 

Another knife in his heart, a twist, black fury clouding his vision. _Jon. Aegon. Snow. Stark. Targaryen. Did it matter?_ He was lost and adrift, everything that had been built by Ned Stark crumbling like an old stone house.

 

He could do nothing but sit in the chair, listening to the bustling of men going on with their day trying to overcome the emotions running wild, trying to look past it to focus on the imminent threat. Letting himself build on the thought in his head.

 

When Ser Davos made an appearance, a book under his arm, Jon barely restrained himself from speaking until the older man sat down across from him. He needed to get the weight off of him before he buckled under the strain.

 

“I might have a plan.”

 

“Let’s hear it.”

 

_The man I thought was my father isn’t my father. My parent’s started a Rebellion. I have an exiled family member I never knew of and she might be able to help us. It’s a terrible plan. It’s mad and it might be the only thing that works._

 

“I’m going to Essos.”

 

“What was that?” Davos’ tone was that of disbelief.

 

“I am going to Essos to find Daenerys Targaryen. We need an army. She has one. She has one that is not currently preoccupied with squabbling over houses and thrones.”

 

“Why would she help you?”

 

He handed over the scroll, the lump in his throat, the burn of loss, of guilt and watched Ser Davos unroll it, read the contents. The man paused to look up at Jon, surprise clearly written across his features.

 

“That is why she’ll help me. I’ll forge an alliance. She helps me take back Winterfell, we’ll back her for the Iron Throne. Then, united we will fight the Army of the Dead.”

 

“You know nothing about her and you are going to sail across the Narrow Sea and ask for help?”

 

“I’ve heard Sam talkin’ about her. Freein’ slaves isn’t nothin” He could feel resolve tightening his muscles.

 

“This is madness.”

 

“Maybe I’m feelin’ a bit mad.” He flexed his fingers, making a fist, watching the scabs break back open, feeling the ire under his skin. “What else am I goin’ to do? We don’t have the numbers to even take back the North, let alone fight the undead. Is it a terrible plan? Yes. Do I have any other ideas? No.”

 

“Do you think the North will rally behind the Targaryen name?”

 

“When the Dead show up, names won’t matter. Stayin’ alive will be our only concern. And to do that I think we need Daenerys Targaryen.”

 

“I don’t understand why you’re not going to just try and take Winterfell, why you wouldn’t just ask the Northern Houses for help? You know there are Houses that will support you. House Mormont for one, so why do you need Daenerys Targaryen?”

 

“Remember she said Stark. I am-“ his voice, his words faltered for a moment, the lie getting stuck behind his teeth. “my father’s bastard son. My last name is Snow, not Stark. I don’t know how many others of the North will come to my aide. How many are still loyal to the Stark’s, let alone a Snow? Winterfell will hold against three times the numbers I can get. I need more men and she needs alliances in Westeros. I need to try and persuade her to fight with us.”

 

“And you think your name being Snow is what matters to them? Your brother named you his heir.”

 

“Aye. And some of _his men_ betrayed him. I owe it to him, to my family to take it back. But more importantly we need allies. I don’t know if or when Daenerys Targaryen plans on sailing for Westeros, so I need to go to her."

 

Davos sat back with a sigh and Jon could feel the man’s gaze weighing his, trying to get insight on what was going on in his head. Jon wished he could explain it, wanted to sort through it, try and see past the hurt, the fury that was scorching his insides, that _his whole life had been a lie_ and try to understand why he had the desire to flee to the sand and find his new relative. He buried it down deep again, feeling more than a little unhinged.

 

“You wouldn’t take this offer from Stannis.”

 

“Stannis wasn’t my brother.” _Cousin_ . The word flew into his head and he squashed the thought right then. _Brother._ The whiplash of jarring thoughts almost making him nauseous. He almost confessed it all to Ser Davos right there, the overwhelming need to have it off his chest, but bit his tongue. This was not information to share, but something to keep close and guarded, like Ned Stark had for all those years.

 

“I don’t understand.”

 

Jon didn’t know how to put into words the ultimate rejection he would feel if those Houses turned him down, how he had the overwhelming need to step away from it all, see if his animosity, this disjointed feeling went away. He found himself with the utter lack of need to do the right thing. He needed to be inspired. Maybe she could do that for him.

 

“He asked me while I was a sworn brother and now I am no longer in the Watch.” _Was everyone going to question him every step of the way?_ “And _this_ is from my _brother_ , so this is my plan.” He straightened his shoulders. “If you have a better one, please let us hear it.”

 

Davos ignored the sharp tone, a calculating look in his eye. “I think my smugglin’ days were easy than this.”

 

“There was a little less at stake.”

 

“Who else is going with us?”

 

There was a flood of gratitude at the man’s words. “I’m not expectin’ you to go with me.”

 

“You seem to have a knack for gettin’ into trouble by yourself.” Davos’ sigh was heavy and long. “I hope you or that wolf don’t get seasick. It’s going to be a terribly long journey.”

  
  


 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They make it to Meereen and nothing is as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Always a huge shoutout to jalen_mara who pre-reads my chapters, suggests, encourages and holds my needy hand while I’m writing this. She’s brilliant and everyone should be reading ANYTHING she writes..

 

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It was a long way from the North.

The motion of the boat kept his knees slightly bent, his stomach slightly queasy, though he had managed to not sicken yet. The smell of salt was in his nose, the air thick and heavy, pressing into him, smothering him with the wet heat. Jon was not sure how anyone got used to it as he pulled his tunic away from his sticky skin, his scars burning with it, knowing it would only get worse as the sun rose higher.

“I don’t like the looks of that sky.”

Davos appeared at his side, staring at the red horizon and he felt a twist in his guts, a cold finger brushing his spine at the concern in the older man’s voice. They were almost to Essos, almost to what the Captain was calling the newly named Bay of Dragons and Jon was ready to put real solid ground under his feet.

And also give himself something else to do in place of the the wallowing he had been caught up in. Cooped up on a ship in the middle of the sea has not done much for his disposition, leaving him irritable and snappish, or quiet as he tried to keep an even temperament.. There was nothing to do but think, to focus on what his newly found heritage meant to him.

He needed to be able to focus on something else. For his own sanity “What is wrong with the sky?” He reached down to pat Ghost, who was leaning into his thigh.

“A red sky in the morning is never a good thing. We are going to be getting a storm and a bad one at that.”

The thought of pitching seas made him turn a little green. He had hoped to finish the journey without any sickness. He sighed in defeat. “Just our luck.”

Davos’ gaze was heavy and Jon felt the urge to squirm away from it. The older man had been mostly quiet on the voyage, not prying into Jon’s sudden desires to flee across the sea, even if the idea had merit. No, Ser Davos could see right through his frontage of plans, even if the man had not pinned down the reasoning.

“I don’t know what it is that has been chasing at your heels since we left, but I can see that it has not relented. I thought it might with distance from Castle Black. Apparently I was wrong.”

Jon bit back a curse at the man’s perceptiveness, knuckles turning white as he gripped the rail. “Not yet.” He managed to grind out, jaw aching with the strain of holding it back in.

“If you need to talk about it, I might not have the answers, but I’m a good listener.”

Jon was grateful for the words, even the pat on the shoulder as Davos left him to his brooding and he turned back to watching the water, listening to the gulls that followed the ship. There was a void inside of him, where all the answers to his questions sat, waiting to be filled.

Ghost nosed under his elbow, pulling him away from his thoughts. Shoulders rounding forward in silent defeat, he stepped away from the railing. “Aye boy, lets go see what we need to do to get ready for Davos’ storm.”

 

 

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The sunlight reflected off the water, making her squint her eyes in defense as she carefully looked over the crucial pieces of the next step to Westeros. The ships were lined up in the bay, a mimic of the soldiers they would be ferrying. She could see movement across the wooden decks, small shapes of those taking care of their tasks with utmost haste and care. “Everything will be ready within a fortnight? The storms did not damage the ships?”

“Very minor damage, Your Grace. We will be ready.”

Daenerys hummed her approval before rubbing her heels against the sides of her horse, moving it forward up the path, only stopping when she could see the camp spread out below her. It was a solid mass of moving parts, the Dothraki preparing themselves and their horses for the voyage across the Narrow Sea.

The sound of rambunctious voices carried up to her, the horde of them boisterous and noisy, making it sound like they did not have any trepidation about getting on those wooden ships. Daenerys knew it was a bold act, understood it well, the type of courage it was taking for them to load up their horses and sail across the water they dreaded. It was not something she took lightly, even if she kept her stoic appearance as the Queen.

That cold of fear also ran within her, fear of stepping out into the unknown, but she was well past resigned to it now. That had always been the path of her life, waiting to see what was around the next bend. The carefully constructed walls she’d built inside, stone and mortar, high as the tallest pyramid, did not allow her to show any fear, hesitation. Who would follow a Queen who had doubts?

The sound of Tyrion’s horse approaching broke her out the troubled musings, but she sat silently, the horse shifting under her as he settled in next to her.

“A rather impressive sight. Terrifying really.”

With a wry grin, her nose crinkled with humor, she turned to look at him. “Will my enemies be terrified?”

Tyrion snorted. “The armies will tremble.”

“Good.” She turned back to watch, pleased with his words.

“We seem to be missing a presence by your side. Where is our favorite Second Sons’ Captain?”

“Off somewhere sulking.” She kept her tone try, knowing Tyrion was looking for affirmation. “I do not think we will see him before we set sail.” _Should she not feel more than this about saying farewell to the man who had shared her bed, who professed his love?_ It was just a small pang of regret inside of her, something barely there. The guilt that she did not feel more of a loss sat heavier than the actual loss of him.

“Good.” Tyrion’s voice was quiet but firm. “As long as he knows what is expected of him.”

She ran a hand down the white neck in front of her, watching the horse’s ears tip back at her touch, ignoring the aching loneliness inside of her that seemed to never be appeased. “He has his instructions.”

“And he will abide by them, I’m sure.”

A snarl rose up in her throat, the urge to snap at Tyrion for speaking the obvious truth and she tamped it down. It was not him she was sore at. No, it was at herself, that she had not yet quieted that part inside of her that still yearned for more than just a long reign.

“I know that was difficult for you, but it’s better this way.”

She made a noise on her throat that was supposed to resemble agreement, kept her eyes trained on the khalasar.

“He would have been a liability now that this is actually happening. You have your armies, you have your ships, you have your dragons. Everything you’ve ever wanted since you were old enough to want anything.”

Except a family.

Unknown of her inner thoughts, he continued on. “It’s all yours for the taking.” He paused for a beat. “Are you afraid?”

Unable to form the words, the truth of it stealing air from her chest. She nodded. A wind kicked up, the heavy beating of wings and she felt her insides settle as the shadows moved over them. Her sons. She had them at least.

“Good. You’re in the great game now. And the great game is terrifying. The only people who aren’t afraid of failure are mad men like your father.”

Finally she turned to look at the man, unable to keep it all inside. “Do you know what frightens me? I said farewell to a man who loves me, a man I thought I cared for-“ The confession burned on her tongue, even as it helped her close the door on the woman, focus on being a queen. “and I felt nothing. Just impatient to get on with it.”

“He wasn’t the first to love you. And he won’t be the last.”

Tyrion’s voice was soft, barely heard over the noise of the Dothraki and she closed her eyes for just a moment, fought back the burn of tears in her eyes. The hope of the those words washed over her, the longing cutting deep, the desire that maybe, maybe, that would happen. That somehow she would find someone to love her again, that maybe she would be able to return that love. Giving her head a slight shake to shatter the thoughts and feelings she did not have time to entertain, she cleared her throat, tried to regain her impassiveness. She was a Queen and personal yearnings were to be set aside, no matter what she craved.

Turning her horse with a cluck, she pointed them down the hill, letting the mare daintily pick its way through the sand. Movement caught the corner of her eye, something coming up over the rise, her horse coming to a sudden stop with nostrils flared, testing the air. She murmured a reassurance as she gathered up the loose reins.

It was a large white beast, almost the size of a horse, too big to be a dog and Daenerys was partially convinced it was a mirage, some trick of the mind.

“I don’t believe it.”

Lord Tyrion’s voice was full of wonder, of disbelief, and she stood in her stirrups trying to see better as the white muzzle lowered, a flash of red before the animal started moving again.

“What is it? Certainly not a dog.”

“No. It appears to be a direwolf.”

His voice held the tone on incredulity and she wrinkled her nose as she squinted to see it better.

“A direwolf?”

“Yes, they are of the North. Westeros.” He glanced to the side, watching her. “They are as unusual as your dragons.”

“What?” Befuddlement slowed her down as she watched it make its way across the dirt and sand. “You’ve seen one before? How did it get here of all places?”

Tyrion moves his horse alongside her’s. “Yes, I’ve seen a few of them. They all belonged to Ned Stark’s children.”

That name made her breath catch. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure how a direwolf makes it to Meereen.” He craned his neck in which to aide his vision, making a small noise of recognition. “And as strange as it may sound, I believe I’ve met this particular direwolf before.”

She tore her eyes away from the direwolf who had stopped, head lowered as if waiting for her to invite him closer, to look at her Hand. “ You’ve met this direwolf before?”

“Well, he was much smaller at the time but I cannot image there are many white direwolves with red eyes If it is the same, his master and I traveled to the Wall together.”

There was an excitement thrumming in her blood, something she could not put words to and she quickly dismounted, handing her reins to Tyrion. “You believe he is friendly, yes?

“He was.” Tyrion grabbed the leather stands, clearly uncomfortable with the sudden realization she meant to approach it. “But that was some time ago, Your Grace, if it is even the same one.”

His words did not thwart her desire to touch the white beast or the curiosity and she approached slowly, watching him fidget and look over his shoulder before taking a few hesitant steps. She was the mother of dragons, she was not afraid of a wolf.

“What are you doing so far from home?” She murmured gently, offering the back of her hand while she listened to the horses stomp nervously at her back. With a barely perceivable whine, the direwolf shifted again before moving forward, reaching out to touch.

A cry came from behind them, a few of her blood riders racing towards them, the direwolf hackling up, lips peeling over his teeth in a silent snarl. She pulled her hand slowly away, straightening up carefully.

“Sorohis! Reri rekke!” They stopped at the command in her tone, letting their horses paw at the ground and she turned her back on them, offering her hand and attention once more to the direwolf.

His blood red eyes were blindingly obvious up close, making him look ferocious and intimidating to most. But she was not most and she gave a smile when he nosed further into her offered hand. “Tyrion, who was he with?” She scratched his ears, enjoying how he leaned into her, whispering to him. “You don’t have a master do you? Something as wonderful as you cannot be owned by someone.”

“Jon Snow.”

She tried out the name, rolling it on her tongue and found it curious that she rather enjoyed the sound of it . Curling her fingers into the white fur she looked back over her shoulder. “So you believe that Jon Snow is here? Where is he?”

“An excellent question.”

Pausing from her ministrations, she looked around as if she could conjure up this Jon Snow by curiosity alone. Instead she found Unsullied walking towards her, their blank expressions giving her no hint of what they were doing.

“My Queen.” Grey Worm pulled off his helm and tucked it under his arm, eyeing the Direwolf carefully. “We found two who say they are looking for you. They say they came with the great white wolf and another from across the sea.

Straightening, she gave the ears one last rub. “Where are they?”

“They are in-“ Grey Worm faltered while trying to think of the correct word. “They are at the pyramid. Under the sun too long.”

“Thank you.” She moved back to her horse, interest piqued, the direwolf at her side as if he belonged there. “Shall we see who came?”

 

 

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The travelers were wearied and worn, an older man in travel ragged clothing and brightly pinked from the sun. The woman looked exhausted, her long red tresses in tangles.

Daenerys stiffened, recognizing the red woman for what she was, trying to not clench her jaw at the sight, wondering what tales and prophecies would be given. She managed a regal pose as she approached, careful to keep any unease off her face.

Missandei announced her as she strode through the room, the occupants climbing to their feet in her presence. Hands folded carefully in front of her, she ignored their surprise as the white direwolf padded in behind her.

“Your Grace.” The man dipped his head. “Forgive the sudden intrusion, but we’ve traveled a long way to find you.”

Tyrion came up beside her and she noted the look of abhorrence on the older man’s face when the gaze switched to her Hand. Assuming on why a stranger would look at Tyrion that way, it took effort to restrain herself on verbally jumping at the man, telling herself to be calm and listen to their story.

She turned to Tyrion. “Lord Hand, is this the man you’ve met that keeps a direwolf as a companion?”

“No.” Tyrion’s head cocked to the side, also ignoring the man who had smoothed out his expression. “Jon Snow is around the same age as you.”

Water and wine were brought out and placed on the table, Daenerys nodding for cups to be filled. Deciding to withgo some decorum, she sat, motioning for the others to find their own spots. The two took to the water gratefully, carefully swallowing while she sipped at her wine.

“Please, introduce yourself and tell me your story.” She leaned back in the chair, hearing Grey Worm come up to stand at her back, hiding her amusement as the direwolf flopped to the cool stones, tongue hanging out.

“I am Ser Davos Seaworth, formally from Flea Bottom, Your Grace.”

“And this is in Westeros?” She looked from Ser Davos to Tyrion as he nodded in agreement, trying to keep her impatience at a minimum.

“King’s Landing.” Tyrion offered. “And last I’d heard, Ser Davos was hand to Stannis Baratheon, who fancied himself King.”

Stiffening suddenly enough that Grey Worm took a step forward, she hardened her eyes and looked at Ser Davos. “Are you and the Red Witch here to try and kill me? I assure you, your efforts will be for naught.”

“No.” Ser Davos looked surprised by her assumption. “Stannis is dead.”

“Well that is certainly good news.” Tyrion gave her a small smile. “So tell us, former Hand of the now dead Stannis, what are you doing in Meereen?”

“We traveled with Jon Snow, Your Grace. He’s the bastard son of Eddard Stark and he came to make an alliance with you.”

“Jon Snow was a sworn brother of the Night’s Watch.”

She could hear the confusion in Tyrion’s voice and she racked her memory, searching for the information about the Night’s Watch. “The Night’s Watch wants an alliance?” The Wall. The Night’s Watch manned to wall to keep the wildling on the north side of it.

“He’s no longer a part of the Watch.”

“How?”

It must not be normal by the look on her Hand’s face and she could not tell if it was sadness of disappointment that flickered there.

“I would prefer to let him tell that story. But I will tell you that he is not a deserter. He has been released from his vows.”

She caught Tyrion’s befuddled glance, but did not return it, deciding she could listen to what they had to say and see if they could answer all the questions they were bringing up. “Where is this Jon Snow?” She motioned with her hand as if bored. “Could he not come himself?”

“No.” Ser Davos sounded weary. “We were shipwrecked, ran aground in the storm. Upon making it to shore, we decided to skirt the coastline, to continue with our journey to Meereen.”

Unease almost had her shifting in her seat, knowing how rough this land could be, but she held still, eyes trained on the man speaking.

“We came across a small band of men who said they were merchants.” Davos’ eyes flashed with hostility. “They said they would be more than happy to rescue us, even though we were quite insistent that we did not need the help.”

She shared a look with Tyrion. She may have struck off chains, but it did not meant here weren’t still some clinging to the old ways. Apparently she had more lessons to teach.

“And finally, to avoid an outnumbered fight, Jon agreed to go with them, in exchange for letting us go free.”

Ghost sat up to give a small whine and Daenerys forgot herself for a moment to push her slippered toe good naturedly into the white furred hip. Thought about men being forced into a type of slavery without chains and without calling it that.

“Lord Tyrion, we need to find Jon Snow.” She looked up, anger starting to burn through her veins. “I do not know if I’m interested in an alliance with him, but I won’t have him picked up and treated as a slave, something that is very much not allowed.”

“Of course Your Grace.” He agreed.

“Well, Ser Davos, the short version of why you are here as been told.” She swung her eyes over to the red haired woman, trying to unclench her teeth as she spoke. “Tell me how a shadowbinder and a priestess of R'hllor comes to be in the company of Ser Davos and this Jon Snow.”

“I am Melisandre, Your Grace. I also used to advise Stannis Baratheon, but I now have a different path to take. I come here because I have seen it in the flames, given the information to Jon Snow and will now give it to you….. The long night is coming.”

Daenerys looked up to Melisandre, ignoring the feeling of cold fingers on her spine. “The long night?”

“Yes. Jon Snow has an important part to play, as do you. Together.”

The woman’s earnest delivery could not be ignored, though it seemed far fetched, hard to grasp, that whatever this long night was, that she was supposed to join with this stranger. She had more questions than answers. “What is the long night? And what is special about Jon Snow?”

“As Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, he allowed the wildling south of the wall-“

Daenerys curiously noted Ser Davos’ involuntary twitch, saved the information for a later time.

“-to protect them from a great danger. He plans on uniting them with the Northern Houses to face their common enemy. Find Jon Snow, let him stand before you and tell the things that have happened to him, the things he’s seen with his own eyes.”

“He sounds like quite a man.” She purposely left the interest out of her tone, not wanting to give away too much this earlier in what was essentially negotiations. But, a man who would do things to protect people, it made him an interest to her.

“If you’ll allow me, Your Grace, let me show you this. It is the reason why Jon thought we should travel this way.” Davos stepped forward, digging into the tattered coat that had to be overly hot in the Meereen air and stuck a hand in a pocket, pulling forth a small wine skin.

Confusion had her wanting to ask questions like a curious child so she bit her tongue, trying to keep skepticism at bay she watched him fumble with the cork. There were many things still needed to be done in order for them to leave and she was not sure how wise it was to be seeing these strangers, thoughts of previous assassination attempts in the back of her mind. But, she had Grey Worm and the Unsullied at her side and they had trekked from Westeros to see her, with an obvious run of bad luck.

Uncorked, Davos shook the skin and instead of water or wine, pulled out a piece of rolled up parchment. With a nod from her, Tyrion took it, reading it, eyes widening the further he went.

“Robb Stark named Jon King in the North?”

A prickle of anger raced over her skin at the words, at what the message was telling her. “That is a bold claim. Tell me, is the North not part of the seven kingdoms?”

“That would depend on who you talk to.” Tyrion gave her a small smile.

“Are the Stark’s not my enemy?”

“We are hoping not.” Davos interrupted gently. “Jon would like to find an agreeable accord with you. If we can get him back.”

“Why would I not leave him where he is? If he is naming himself King in the North, that puts him in open rebellion?” She tilted her head, giving a hard stare.

“With respect, Your Grace, the Northern lot will prove terribly difficult for you. If you went to Westeros with a man born of the North, sired by their most trusted man, a man who was slain by the family currently on the throne-“ he gave a disapproving look to Tyrion “-and you went with him already allied, it would help you gain support. And I know that all monarchs need support.”

She sat in silence, caught between annoyance, begrudging realization that Ser Davos might be correct and the little spark of curiosity of the man who had been Lord Commander. Who traveled with a direwolf. She looked to her Hand.

Tyrion was tapping the parchment against his palm. “I’m interested to hear what he has to say. I cannot say I know anything about prophecies or visions in flames, but I liked Jon Snow and I trusted him. And I am an excellent judge of character.”

She gave him the hint of a smile.

“If his brother named him King in the North.” He waved the parchment. “He could be a valuable ally. Ser Davos is correct, the Lannisters executed his father and conspired to murder his brother. Jon Snow has even more reason to hate Cersei than you do.”

“We did travel all this way to meet with you, in hopes of an alliance.”

Looking between her Hand and the man who must be Jon Snow’s advisor, she let the information shift through her, trying not to fall headlong into the beckoning stories like some naive girl. But, they had crossed the sea to their great peril to stand in front of her, when they could have waited until she was in Westeros with no friends, other than the few at her back.

“Find out where he is. I ordered that there was to be no slavery, so find out how these men think they can keep Jon Snow as a slave or hostage. Get him back. I would like to hear what he has to say.” It was there again, the unnamed sensation buzzing along her skin like a current. She turned back to Ser Davos and Melisandre. “You will have rooms. I’ll send for food and baths to be drawn. Any word of him and we will let inform you. We will talk more upon the morrow. I am curious as to what this long night entails.”

With a nod, everyone was dismissed and she sat in her chair, trying to sort out everything that had just happened as she sipped at her wine. Leaning her head back she closed her eyes.

_She remembered the lonely sound of the wolf howling._

 

 

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Walking in the heat was worse than sailing in it, Jon decided as the sand shifted under his feet. His split lip throbbed, his hand clenching and unclenching without him even realizing he was doing it, all the tension building up in his body.

The guards were talking in a language he did not understand, but he listened anyway to see if he could decipher anything by their tone if nothing else. They had gathered about ten other men, ranging from weak and feeble, to a few who looked strong and capable. He was aware that they would be sold as slaves, though slavery strictly forbidden, a few of the men reminding their captors of that. Jon just knew they were being gathered and herded like sheep, yet to see a way of escape.

The man in front of him stumbled, taking a few off balance steps before crashing to the ground. As the guards closed in, Jon quickly hooked a hand under the man’s elbow, intent on pulling him to his feet.

The hilt of sword was pushed into his chest.

“Leave him.” Was the command.

“Do not touch me.” Jon snarled, the itch for a good fight crawling up his skin.

When the man raised his hand to strike him, Jon reacted, quick, light on his feet. A step closer to the man and Jon landed a strike to the nose. A burst of blood sprayed forth, Jon grabbing the man’s wrist and giving it a twist, disarmed him, picking up the sword and taking a step back.

There were too many, he was aware, but his blood was up and he swung the sword in a quick loop, testing the weight of it. A man closed in on him, bigger, slower and he blocked the man’s swing, grunting a bit under the force of it.

When the man leaned his weight into it, Jon stepped quickly to the side, allowing the other man to fall forward and he kicked the side of the man’s knee, heard him howl with a crunch of tendons.

The sound of a sword cutting through air had him ducking his head, twisting again as another man rushed him, Jon stood, balanced easily on his feet, meeting the swings and thrusts. Adrenaline was coursing through him, feeding his limbs and he let out a growl, seeing an opening to throw a punch, the sword pommel in his hand adding to the force of it.

Teeth split open his knuckles but he hardly noticed, stepping back again to meet the remaining guards.

A word was barked out, causing the attacking men to stop and straighten, Jon holding his defensive position as the men calling themselves merchants rode into view.

Finally accepting he was not yet going anywhere, Jon heaved out a breath, throwing the strange sword to the ground and wiping the sweat off his face as the men eyed him carefully, talking rapidly.

Finally one gave him a menacing smile and spoke in broken common tongue. “You will be good in fighting pits.”

Jon felt the shudder go through him at the bleak thought of it.

 

 

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_The sound of his toenails clicking across the stone floor made it impossible for him to move silently. Everything was so bright, so hot here. He longed for the North. Passing a room the familiar sound of Davos’ breathing stopped him and he lifted his nose, testing the air. Everything was fine in there._

_He continued on, too restless to settle down, not sure where he would. He could take care of himself, depended on no man. But still, he missed his human._

_At the next door the intriguing smell caught his attention and he followed it, pushing in past the door, hearing the scared squeals of women. He ignored them, moving towards the owner of the smell that had caught his attention._

_The scent was from one who held no fear when she approach him before. And she did not make a sound from where she sat, up to her neck in scented water. She was fire and steel and kindness._

_“Are you lonely then?” A small feminine hand reached over the side of the tub and he moved to the offering, butting his head against it until she got the idea and ruffled his ears._

_“Poor boy. You’ve had a long journey.”_

_She rose in a fluid movement, water sluicing down pale skin as another woman came up behind, wrapping the light haired woman up in cloth. His tail began to wag and he moved in closer, nose pressing to wet skin as he inhaled deeply._

_A chuckle came from above him, a hand cupping his muzzle and pulling it away from her skin. Then a face appeared in his line of sight, smiling, amused. “We are not well enough acquainted for that. Behave.”_

_With a sneeze, he backed off, watching the proceedings as he sat on his haunches, curiosity keeping him close. The silver woman shrugged into something, pulling it around her shoulders and with the tone of command, spoke something foreign to his ears, the meaning plain._

_Everyone cleared out of the room, the warm skinned woman last and with a great sigh, the woman crossed to the balcony, into the open air, hands on the railing as she studied everything below._

_His nose twitched again, the good scent of her, the scents of everyone below. Crossing to her, he pressed close, eyes closing as she stroked his head silently._

_The emotion eked out, like it did with his man, the well hidden loneliness. He pushed closer._

 

 

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Jon awoke with a start, barely biting back the gasp of shock. Slipping into a wolf dream was not what he had intended, the after effects leaving him disoriented, an ache at the base of his skull. But still, it was a relief to know Ghost was alive, since he had been missing after the wreck as they had traveled on the shore.

If Ghost had been at his side, he might have tried for the fight, instead of trading himself over. But, as it was, he could not have allowed Davos to die over here, on a journey of Jon’s doing.

And they had made it to Daenerys Targaryen.

He knew who she was, seen through Ghost’s eyes, the sight of her, flushed and wet, naked, left him with a burning shame of arousal. She was all curves and soft, leaving him desperately hungry, aching to touch, his mind trying to battle against the base yearnings. She was his _Aunt_ , though his body seemed not to agree, the smell of her through Ghost leaving him with a need to taste the pale skin. With a silent groan he curled up on his side, cock demanding and hard for a woman he had never met. A woman he was related to.

He fought against his raging desire, convincing himself that it was just the result f not having had a woman in so long. Reminding himself that he had came to find an alliance, to try and save the people of Westeros. Cursing his suddenly lust ridden thoughts, he turned carefully to his back, the cot not comfortable, knowing while his predicament was not ideal, it was no worse than he had been before.

The sudden boil of rage set his jaw, the bitter thought of Ned’s choices coming to the front of his thoughts. If he had known the truth of it long before this, he wouldn’t be here, across the Narrow Sea in some dingy cell, fighting arousal at seeing his Aunt naked through the eyes of his wolf.

He did not acknowledge the intrusive awareness that maybe, even if he had known the truth, he would still be in these exact circumstances.

He closed his eyes.

 

 

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The sun was up when Tyrion brought her the information of Jon Snow’s whereabouts. She was breaking her fast, amusing herself and Missandei by tossing bits of food at the direwolf, watching him snap it up before it hit the ground. Climbing up into the seat across from her, he picked up a date, popping it into his mouth. Breaking open a piece of bread, she tried not to push at him, the want for details of the mysterious man making her eager.

It was foolish. And she was long past being foolish.

“He’s outside of the city. The merchants are betting men, dragging along a string of fighters and what will probably be household servants.”

Remembrance of the fighting pits made her set down her bread, losing her appetite. Ghost, as she had learned his name the previous night, ambled over to set his head in her lap. “How can that be? Only free men fight.”

“They say that he is in their debt. And in exchange, he will fight until that debt is paid.”

“Or he’s dead.” She idea gave a bitter taste in her mouth.

“There is that option.”

Tapping her fingers against the table, she carefully considered her words. “It seems rather improper for a Queen to let someone who is seeking an alliance, end up in the fighting pits.”

Tyrion gave her a smile. “It does send a discouraging message to potential allies.”

“Get him out of there.” The anger of him being held against his will, a direct disobeyment of her rule hummed steadily in her veins. Outside, from on top of the pyramid she heard the answering screech of Drogon.

Tyrion looked grim, no doubt remembering the fate of the Masters. “How, Your Grace? He’s not being held as a slave, so they can’t be charged as Masters. We cannot bring them fire and blood.”

Affrontement sat on her face. “Why not? I am the Queen.”

“Yes, which is why you must not act in haste. Everyone is expected to follow the law, but if you do not hold to the same laws, why should they? Are they truly breaking the law or have they just found an unfortunate way around it?”

Huffing in frustration she sat back. “Is it worth the potential alliance to get him back?”

Tyrion picked up a piece of bread before looking up at her. “That’s cold, Your Grace.”

She did not mean it, not truly but she wanted to test get Hand’s response to such a question. Wanted to maintain the facade of the ruthless leader that she could be.

“Then how do we get him back? I know you have an idea already, you would not have come to me without one. You are a schemer, after all.”

Tyrion seemed greatly pleased with her assessment, taking a bite of his meal while he pondered over whatever he had planned. Finally, he set his hands on the table. “We will call for another try at the fighting pits. That will bring these men in, bring Jon Snow to us. I have not quite figured out what to do once he is here, but it gives us some time.”

Daenerys almost flinched, the memories of the last time she was at the fights still at the front of her mind. But she understood Tyrion’s reasoning behind it, though she preferred to just go take him, punish the men who held him. “That seems like a risk. He could die in there.”

“We will have a change of rules. You have not been to a tournament in Westeros, Your Grace. The goal there is not to kill, but to win. I’m not saying that there are not a few unfortunate accidents, but, overall everyone walks away in good health. We will implement those rules here. That way bets will still be made, the crowds will still get a taste of blood and we might be able to make another alliance for you.”

Picking back up her bread, she nibbled at it, fighting against the nerves fluttering inside of her. “I agree to it.”

“Good.” Tyrion tipped his head at her. “We do not want to seem to interested in him, the men may get ideas and extend his debt. Or they may let us pay it off.”

The thought of it set her teeth together. It was a thinly veiled slavery and she knew it. “Or they might put a knife across his throat if they realize he has any value to me.”

“We must tread carefully. Now, since the arena where the fighting was held, it now a burnt skeleton of its former glory, I will look for another place for it to be held and let it known that in celebration of you sailing for Westeros, we will be holding these fights in your honor.”

The thought made her cringe, but she gamely held on to stoicism. “Set it in motion Lord Hand, let us see what this Jon Snow is about.”

 

 

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Dothraki- Sorohis! Reri rekke : Halt! Stay there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I’m going to use the explicit rating ;)
> 
> Disclaimer.. And here is the turn in which many of you aren’t going to like where the story is going... If you bail out, I promise I won’t get my feelings hurt.. But, it’s mapped out how I want it and I’m not budging on it.. 
> 
> And for those who questioned in the comments- No, Sansa is not going to be in this story. When I said I was messing with the timeline, I have- Sansa and Theon have not escaped yet, but Yara went to Essos, so Dany already has that fleet.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First impressions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge shoutout and THANK YOU to the brilliant [jalen_mara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jalen_mara/pseuds/jalen_mara) who I’ve somehow convinced to take on the ridiculous task of beta and cheerleader, giving me the push when I need it.. plainly put, she’s a fucking gem ❤️
> 
> Any actual editing is my mess..

 

 

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The armor didn’t fit right.

Jon heaved out a sigh to try and relieve some of the frustration brewing in his chest as he made adjustments, focusing on the goal to keep vital parts of his chest covered. He missed his own, armor that actually fit him, which was probably soaking at the bottom of the sea.

They were in Meereen as of the previous nightfall and he was so close to his companions, his destination, that it was difficult for him to remain focused. He wanted call Ghost down to him, tear through all of these men who thought they could own people like cattle and let their blood soak into this dry ground.

The thought of it was as alluring as it was horrifying and he stopped what he was doing to take a deep breath, try and rein his impulses in. All that would do was get him and Ghost killed. And a direwolf should never die in this hot, hostile land.

A man timidly reached past him for chest armor and Jon moved to the side, watched the man struggle with trying to fit it properly. Warring within himself to leave the man be and the urge to help, he finally gave in.

“Have you worn something like this before?” Jon was sure the man had not. He could tell the man might be strong, but had no skills as a fighter.

The man shook his head as an answer.

Jon waited until it was slipped on and then reached forward, tightening it down as he had on his own. “You want it to be close. If it is loose, it will get in your way. Too tight and you won’t breath. You’ll need to breath.”

The man nodded in understanding before looking at Jon. “You Westerosi?”

It was a rough delivery but Jon understood, nodding his answer.

“Why are you here?”

Jon looked out to the great pyramid that looked over them, thought of everything that had gone wrong. “I want to meet the Queen.”

That statement was met with approval, the man nodding enthusiastically as him. “She’s good. We are no longer slaves. She free us all.”

“But you are here.” Since being thrown into his debt, Jon had been listening. Those calling themselves merchants hated her, the other men seemed to love her and what she stood for.

“My fault.” The man pointed at his chest.

It was not something Jon believed, but he did not challenge him on it. Not yet. There was still too much to learn about the people here.

 

 

 

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There was a buzz, the feeling of excitement in the air as Daenerys took her place on the podium, grateful for the shade it provided as she settled into her seat. Tyrion, Ser Davos settled in beside her, Missandei and Grey Worm flanking them. More Unsullied stood a vigilant sentry as cups were filled and passed around, the waiting beginning.

Tyrion had managed to find a suitable place to hold their fighting, a little work by the people of Meereen who were paid handsomely for their labor and it was big enough to hold spectators, even if not as grand as the last one.

Not that she cared about that, no the distaste of it all sat dry in her mouth, effort put into actually making herself be present for this. But, they needed to maintain the guise of being interested in these events, the final farewell to the Queen. She shifted, already at unease, working at keeping her face cool and stern.

It had worked, Tyrion’s scheme to get Jon Snow into the city, the group of men all entered as fighting and from what she had been told, money was already flowing in the form of bets, pitting man against man. She clenched her fist at the thought, pushing away the memory of Jorah in the pits fighting for her good graces, pushing away the wave of sorrow that grabbed at her.

“I half expected Daario to show up.”

It was a mock whisper from Tyrion and she resisted the urge to make a face at her Hand. It was well over a fortnight since she and Daario had parted ways and she still felt the same emptiness as before. He was still around, stepping into his lighter political role, just staying invisible. A relief to her that she did not have to gaze upon that wounded look in his eye, did not have to pry deep inside to see what had been lacking.

“I understand this is normally a fight to the death?”

Ser Davos’ voice pulled her from further reflection and she turned to look at him. The man looked as uneasy as she felt, no doubt not wanting to see his young King fall in the sand of an unfamiliar land.

“Usually.” Tyrion acknowledged. “But we have no appetite for that here. We made sure it was understood that there was to be no dying out there today.”

The weight in her chest eased a bit with the words, knowing fully well that many of those here were going to walk out there in hopes of coin, the hope of feeding hungry mouths, pay off debts, some for the glory.

It still did not make it right.

But surprisingly there was the small thread of anticipation threading through her at finally getting to see the man that Ser Davos had been complementing whenever he was in her presence. _He was chosen as Lord Commander by his peers because they believed in him. He makes difficult decisions for the good of people, no matter how unpopular it makes him. He believes in justice and is not scared to wade through the muck to get it._ But he had been frustratingly silent on whatever it was that allowed Jon Snow to be released from his vows, Melisandre quiet and subdued on the subject also.

“I hope your Jon Snow doesn’t get himself injured out there.” She took a sip of her wine, glancing over at Ser Davos. In the short time spent together, she had grown to enjoy the older man’s company. He was blunt, no minced words for her and his view was always of one born without wealth. A different viewpoint brought forth. It was a breath of fresh air when she sometimes felt that everyone around her was trying to custom fit their words to what she wanted to hear.

“It’s been said he’s the greatest swordsman of the North, maybe of Westeros.” Ser Davos shrugged, still looked a little unsettled. “And I’m sure he would prefer to out there with his own sword.”

He patted his hip and Daenerys finally paid attention to the sword that sat upon it. The weapon had been taken away at their arrival, no letting an armed man walk among the rooms, but had given it back today, even though he had insisted he was not much of a fighter. But he kept it at his waist, wrapped in leather from pommel to guard, the scabbard old and worn. It did not look like much. The look of doubt must have crossed her face and Davos chuckled at her.

“I promise you, it is better than it currently looks. Jon needed to not draw attention to it. Smart lad. He would have lost it to those vultures and never gotten it back.”

Curiosity got a hold of her, but she ignored it. After all, she was not really interested in the weapon a man fought with. It was just the intrigue of why he had hidden its appearance.

“Well, may Jon Snow be graced with accuracy and quick feet today.” Tyrion raised his cup.

They all raised their’s in answer and Daenerys was again restless, the noise of the crowd also rising, seeming to have the same thoughts. But before she could ask when the activities would start, the gates opened, the first pair walking out into the arena.

 

  

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The stone wall was rough against his back, scraping through the thin tunic, a piece of leather held by his teeth as he gathered up his hair to tie back. He did not need it getting in his eyes. A rumble of tension, the bite of aggression rolled through him, something he tried to ignore as he eyed the nerves or blustering confidence of the other men. He had refused to spar at full capacity in the scant days leading up to this, instead watching the other men and different fighting styles, how they moved with the weapons unfamiliar to him, testing himself against them without giving too much of himself away.

He wished for the comfort of Longclaw. His chosen sword was close to the same weight and length, but it did not fit his hand like it should, a disadvantage out there. But still, the need for a fight was singing in his veins, every bit of pent up rage that had been simmering for weeks, ready to be unleashed.

Successful in pulling his hair off his face, he shifted into his ill fitting armor before sitting back down. Listening to the crowd, their noises reflecting what was happening in the fight, he ran his finger along the edge of his borrowed blade. He’d spent the sunrise putting an edge to it, listening to the chatter of opinions about Daenerys Targaryen, absorbing every bit of information he could, listening to how she had ended the Masters, her three dragons lighting the path.

It was a hard thing to believe in, a Queen that was a dragon rider.

But it was what he had risked everything for. It was exactly what he needed.

 

 

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It had been designed to have one victor at the end, each fighter moving forward to challenge another winner, a long grueling day and Daenerys was already tired of the sound of metal coming together, the heat pressing through their shaded cover, the animalistic sounds of fighting men.

She did not want to seem a petulant, spoiled Queen, but the dislike of the sport, even though men were not dying, made it difficult to remain focused on what was actually happening. Still she sat, regal elegance with a stern face, eyes trained forward onto the sand.

When Davos stiffened in his seat, her focus sharpened watching the men stride out into bright sun. Dark curly hair and pale skin gave Jon Snow away, the bits and pieces of armor not hiding his Westerosi looks. Giving an appraising once over she found lean muscle over an easy stride, despite the footing. She was a distance away but could still see the schooled discipline on his face. Something inside of her clenched tight at the sight of him.

“Jon Snow I presume?” She kept her voice low, purposely indifferent as both men bowed in front of her.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Jon Snow did not spare them another glance, rolling his wrist, testing his sword as he waited for his opponent to make a move. Daenerys felt herself freeze when the man moved out with a rush, Jon meeting him with crossed blades. Metal slid along metal with a screech as the men backed away and began to circle.

 

 

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Jon fought the urge to wipe sweat from his brow, the bright light making him squint as the man rushed him. He twisted out of the way easily, hooking out a foot and catching the other man by the ankle. His opponent crashed to the ground in a spray of sand, outmatched easily, leaving a bitter taste in Jon’s mouth. It would be easy to kill the man, watch blood stain the sand red and for a moment he craved it.

Shaking his head as the other man climbed to his feet, Jon set himself again for defense. The humiliated man charged him again and he stood his ground to meet the onslaught with his sword, the feel of the block echoing up his arm.

He moved quickly despite the heat, thwarting the clumsy attempts easily. When the man paused for a breath, Jon pressed forward, striking quickly, two hard blows and the man was disarmed

It was hardly a match and with the tip of his sword pressed above the heart of the fallen man, Jon looked up to the group with a snarl, eyes catching on the alluring figure of Daenerys Targaryen.

She looked calm and cool sitting up there, looking down at him and he felt the sudden urge to stride up there, let loose the black desire that had been haunting him and see what it would take for her to lose that haughty pose. Even with the distance separating them, he could see her shoulders square and her chin lift, holding his gaze steadily, as if challenging him to do just that.

Suddenly the sound of the crowd came back and blinking his eyes to clear his head, he instead nodded at her, giving in to the need to wipe the grit off his face. When she nodded back her dismissal, he turned his back on the figures on the podium, unable to spare thoughts for anyone but her as he walked back through the gates, out of the public eye.

With the renewed noise of the crowd, he dropped back down along the wall, taking the offered water from a servant boy and tried to gather a grip on himself.

 

 

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Daenerys felt it difficult to draw in a full breath after the small staredown with Jon Snow. She was not exactly sure what she had been expecting, but a man who seemed wilder than his direwolf companion was not it. She had imagined men of the North unkempt and lumbering, not this quick moving young man with a comely face and powerful sword arm. Something she had thought herself above noticing. But she definitely felt a flush of heat that had nothing to do with the sun and risked putting a hand to her cheek in attempts to cool it.

“Well, he made it to the next round.” Tyrion drawled, eyeing her suspiciously.

Clearing her throat lightly, drawing in her composure, she took a sip of wine before looking over to her Hand and Ser Davos. “He did not seem to put much effort into it.

Ser Davos snorted. “There was no need, our lad had that man beat before their first move. Jon knew that, no use destroying the man.”

Humming at the thought of it, a man who did not feel the need to strut and preen his physical prowess. It was a novelty she was not used to, thinking of the games Daario had played to get her attention. This Jon Snow had more to lose. He was not looking for a spot in her bed, _though the thought of that sent a tingle down her spine, something she did not want to examine closely_ , but an alliance for the good of his people. It was higher stakes and he seems content to let her learn of what he was made of, by herself with no prompting.

It was intriguing, a pull of curiosity.

“How many more fights for him on this day?” She let herself lean back into the chair.

“If he is victorious in the next, he will have one more.”

Two more potential fights, two more chances to watch him without him being able to study her. To be able to see what type of man he with a sword in his face.

 

 

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Adrenaline was pumping through his veins as he waited his turn to go back out there. Shifting from side to side on the balls of his feet, Jon tried to ignore the need for violence and focus on just doing enough to stay standing. A slap on the back caught him off guard, breaking his concentration and he swung around, senses prepared for the chance it was foe and not friend.

“You are good.”

Jon relaxed a bit giving a small sigh and a half smile. “He wasn’t. Here-“ he reached out the help the young man tighten down his armor again. “Remember what I told you about this?”

“Too loose in the way, too tight, no breathing.”

He had to turn away from the earnest smile, the biting memory, _keep your shield up or I’ll ring your head like a bell_ , threatening to stop the air in his chest, a thin layer of red clouding his vision.

_Would the anger ever fade?_

Ducking his head against the glare, he stepped back out into the arena.

 

  

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The other man towered over Jon Snow.

It did not seem to bother the man of the North, Daenerys noted, watching him move quickly out of the way of a swinging blade. She winced as it cut by him, aware that if it had landed, there would have been serious injury.

But he was quick on his feet, moving as if in some strange dance, nimble as a cat as he twisted and dodged, moving as silent and deadly as his direwolf companion. Still, her muscles were tense, her heart leaping at every swing.

It was infuriating that she was so invested. That she could not tear herself away from watching his every move.

Again, Jon was the victor, holding the unsettling eye contact with her, refusing to kneel. It should be a mark against him, the unwillingness to give. It should make her walk away from this possible alliance if he was not willing to bend the knee. Instead she found an appeal in it, the confidence without arrogance, a man who knew what he offered. As a result there was an unwanted effect of heat settling in her limbs, a need starting to kindle low.

Watching his retreating form, the way he carried himself, easily and steadily, she was suddenly extremely tired of playing this game. “Lord Tyrion. How long must he fight before his debt is considered paid?”

Tyrion tilted the cup of water as he considered it. “It would depend on what he is earning in there.”

It was not a good enough answer for her. It was unjust and everything down to her bones was telling her it needed to be corrected. “And how are we going to punish these men? Since you are advising me against doing it my way.”

“We must be careful.”

“Why?” She noticed Davos watching the conversation.

“You are getting ready to sail for Westeros. We do not want this place descending back into chaos once we leave it.”

She knew Tyrion was trying to keep all sides satisfied, but the grip of her control was slipping fast, discourse and impatience thrumming through her veins. “But are we not allowing the type of practices with what they are doing now? They must be punished.”

“I do agree. But let’s not act in haste. We need Jon Snow clear of this before we seek retribution.”

Settling back into her seat with a sigh, a steel resolve stiffening her spine, she contemplated what Tyrion was saying, understood _why_ he was saying it. But a part of her felt he was being too soft, allowing too much. These men were purposely testing her, a mad thought after what had just happened here.

A shifting caught her eye, Davos fidgeting, a shade lost of color. He was nervous for Jon, she realized, a piece inside of her thawing to the older man’s worry. Reaching out, she patted the top of his hand, smiling softly at his startled look.

“We’ll get him back, even if I have to walk out into that arena and rescue him myself.”

She was rewarded with a smile, the feeling of lightness, of determination that they would save the Northron man before she sought justice. Tried telling herself it was only for justice and an alliance only.

“I do believe you would, Your Grace.”

 

 

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His arms ached and he had a cut along his bicep that was stinging with sand and sweat. Gritting his teeth he flopped back against his spot on the wall, eyeing the dwindling number of fighters.

One more match was all he had. One more and this day would be at an end. There were already whispers flying around that the group of winners would be invited up to the great pyramid, to be viewed by the Queen. Speculation that one man would find his way into the Queen’s chambers had him snorting in amusement and disbelief. A woman who looked like that was in no need of some grimy man from the fighting pits in her bed. But still, he did not know what, or if a plan was in place and it presented an opportunity to meet her. He just needed to keep winning.

Taking the water offered to him, Jon let his head fall back to the stone, the myriad of emotions finding their way to the surface now that he no longer had an opponent standing in front of him. And he was surprised to find that a blissful numbness was settling over him, wrapping his heart in a protective blanket, coating his broken shards. He was too tired to bleed over Ned Stark’s lie, the ache of betrayal settling with a dull thrum.

Closing his eyes, he tried to ignore the cacophony of noise around him, restless stirrings of men getting ready to fight and worked on relaxing, muscle by muscle, focusing on any pain and twinges. Trying to ignore the tightening he felt in his stomach every time he had set eyes on the Dragon Queen, the want that made him desperate to march up there and put his hands on her. See how hot she could burn.

It was an unreasonable response for many, many reasons.

Telling himself it was just the extra surge of adrenaline giving him those urges, he turned back to listening to the commotion around him. That was better than _thinking._

 

 

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The sun was high in the sky, bearing down with a vengeance, a trickle of sweat rolling down the back of her neck. Daenerys stood, ignoring the men currently in the arena, the looks from her companions. She was too restless to sit, an anger burning low in her stomach. A man had died out there, a simple miscalculation and a sword had sliced through veins, a life lost in this ridiculous farce called competition.

“It was not supposed to happen like that-“

“Yes I know.” She did not care that she cut Tyrion off. “I understand it was an accident, but still a man died out there. For what? Pride? Coin?”

“For a chance at an alliance that you could very well use.”

Blowing out a breath at Tyrion’s words of reasoning, she slowed down, eyes flickering over the crowd. “That could have been him out there and then an alliance with the North would have been gone, just like that.” She snapped fingers, aware that she felt a clutch of despair at the thought of Jon Snow’s life bleeding out over the sand . “I do not like anything about this.”

“It’s almost over Your Grace.”

Turning sharply as Davos’ voice, she stopped her pacing to look back at him. He looked like he was holding on by a thin thread, just as horrified by the proceedings as she was. Every instinct inside of her was screaming for justice just as loudly as the crowd was cheering over the fighting. She took her seat, gritting her teeth together, hoped Jon Snow was good enough to stay alive.

They would see this finished.

 

 

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A buzz was rolling through the air as he stepped out of the shadows and back into the light. It fed into him, rumbled in his veins, alighting his hunger, preparing to turn him into more beast than man. This fight would be more difficult, there was no doubt. The man opposing him did not make it that far by luck. Jon watched him swing his two blades, eyeing the ease in which they were handled.

Pushing the tip of his own sword into the sand, he crouched down, noting the dark stain of blood and drag marks from where they had removed the fallen competitor. A grim reminder of what could easily be. _The word traitor on a cross, the cold snow at his back._

Blowing out a breath, trying to scatter his thoughts to _focus,_ he scooped up a hand full of the brown, using the grit to balance the sweat on his palms. Finally he stood, wiping everything on his thighs, shifting his gaze up to the dais.

They were all watching up there, Davos peering down worried, Tyrion seeming collected. He allows his gaze to move sideways, to land on her. _Daenerys._ Though she looked indifferent, he could see her twisting her wine goblet, her eyes tracking his movement.

It was a small measure of comfort that he was not alone in this fascination.

Movement pulled his attention back to the dark haired man striding toward him with confidence. Jon wrapped his fingers back around the hilt of his sword, pulling it out of the sand with a deep breath, feeling the eagerness roll through him. Ready to snap and show his teeth.

The weight was now more familiar as he swung the blade at his side, letting it cut through the air, his feet taking him to the left. The man moved with him,a deadly dance, ugly face turned up in a grimace as they stared each other down.

Jon held his ground as the other man broke first, swiping down quickly, one then the other. Jon twisted out of the way, reacting quickly. Before he could set again, he was dodging another strike, then standing up to block, the ringing of crossed metal. The other blade flashed out and he ducked, feeling the wind as it cut over his head.

This man was a better than the previous opponents, Jon’s blood beginning to rile at the opportunity, at the challenge.

The smell of death clung to the heavy air as he swung out, then feinted as it was blocked, the other blade narrowly missing his thigh. Remembering to breathe, he bounced up to the balls of his feet, pushing back. The taste of fury was rising in his throat and he tried to swallow it down, keep a steady head.

Cursing as he blocked, the other blade catching his armor. Sidestepping he swiped out, a lucky catch, disarming the man of one of his swords. A ruthlessness sang in his blood, the noise of the crowd echoing in his chest as they circled again, looking for weak spots. Demand for violence crackled within.

The sand shifted under his feet, muscles aching in protest to their abuse. Ribs twinged, a cruel reminder of another fight, of gasping for air. Of dead blue eyes. It swamped over him then, everything he was trying to ignore. The hurt of betrayal. Bitter of lies. Loneliness. Confusion. _Rage._

Lungs screaming for air, he let it all feed into him, vision narrowing. Two hands on his sword. The smell of blood calling to him. Sword swinging in an arc. A block. Arms quivering in protest. Gritting his teeth. Jumping out of the way. A narrow miss. Sweat running into his eyes. Another block. Shoving back. The frenzy crawling it’s way up his chest. A jab. Losing the grip of one hand. The stale stench of the other man invading. Jon laughed, a little mad. Savagery singing with every swing. A punch thrown out. Cartilage crunching under his fist. Scabs breaking back open. The burn of a blade across his thigh.

Another screech of steel as Jon threw up his sword, stopping a downward swing. The man stepped in closer, pushing, determination written in his pale eyes, blood running from his mangled nose.

_‘You know what’s wrong with honor?”_

A lesson learned.

Jon head butted him, shaking off the daze as the man stumbled back. Pushed at the retreating form, triumph surging through as the man slipped, went down.

Kicking away the other blade, Jon stood over him, unfamiliar sword held with confidence to the offered neck. The crowd was roaring with bloodlust and he could feel the echo of it rattle in his bones, calling to him to slide the blade past sinew and muscle, listen to the gurgle and choking of blood. The rage inside of him howling in victory, demanding to be sated.

But he looked down, the wide eyes of the man stared up at him, eyes of a man who had done him no wrong, a man who had been outmatched. Shame rose up, burning straight through to the snarling beast inside of him. There was no honor in blood for sport.

Forcing himself to step over the body, he pushed the tip of the sword back into the sand. Unable to do anything but look up at _her._

There was an expectant look on her face and he knew, as he had the past two times, that he should be kneeling. Stubbornness prevented him from doing so, again. His brother had named him King in the North, he was not bending the knee, not without a conversation between them. Instead, he pushed back the hair that had escaped it’s binding, nodded his head at her, lungs sucking in air.

It was probably only a trick of the mind, seeing what looked like the flash of approval across her face at his defiance. Holding his ground as the other competitors filed out behind him. She stood, everyone rising with her and he squared his shoulders when he realized what she was going to do.

They lined up single file as if they were all trained soldiers, beaten men, some hurt, some victorious, a few even smiling. The Unsullied closed in on her as dainty feet hit the sand.

The numbness around his heart broke away, it’s wild beat surely loud enough to hear as she walked down the line, speaking soft words to the men. His lungs froze, body vibrating in a tangle of feelings as she strode closer.

It was a pull inside of him. A pull as if there was a rope attached around him, the end held in her hands. A tug. She stopped. He forgot how to breathe.

She was delicate lace with a spine of steel, a commanding look in her eyes. Eyes the color of the sea he crossed to get to her. Her mouth, plump and pink quirked at the corner, no doubt finding humor at his sudden loss of composure.

Jon fought to bring his wits back, straightening a bit more before catching her hand. He heard her sharp inhale, a low buzz settling under his skin, an awareness of just how close she was. How easy it would be to step closer.

With lust swimming in his veins, the adrenaline still goading him to take, it was impossible to remember that she should not have this effect on him.

“Your Grace.” He managed, voice rough as he lifted up her captured hand. Eyes widened as he pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles, her white teeth sinking into her beckoning bottom lip at his touch.

They were frozen in that moment, her hand still in his, standing on the precipice of _something_ , when the stillness of the air was disturbed. The beat of powerful wings creating a nervous ripple through the crowd.

She smiled then, the sun blotting out and Jon tore himself away to look up at the dragon flying overhead. He somehow remembered how to breathe, the part inside of him that still held that bit of disbelief, now awake.

The softness of her skin left his and he looked back down, the Mother of Dragons tipping her head at him before she backed away. He barely resisted the urge to follow, excitement teeming.

His gaze tracked her as she walked off, feminine and regal. And for the first time since his resurrection, Jon felt the bleakness dim.

 

 

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	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to jalen_mara who betas and encourages.
> 
> My dear friend ❤️❤️
> 
>  
> 
> All editing mistakes are mine.. I’m the worst.. sorry..  
>  
> 
> Lovely moodboard provided by akurotori (sorry, I don’t know your handle for here).. thank you for it..

 

 

 

 

 

Everything was prepared according to her preferences as Daenerys surveyed it all. Food and drink were at ready, heaped onto tables, a mummers show for the people, an elaborate farce all in the name of getting to Jon Snow.

A bubble of resentment rolled through her chest at everything they were going through. She had no problem with the feast, feeding the people, just the fancy steps taken to get the Northman back. It was utter nonsense. She should have marched down there and retrieved him by force, punished the men who thought they could ignore the rules of her reign.

“What were your first impressions?”

Davos’ voice pulled her out of her thoughts, his question throwing her right back into the feeling of standing in front of Jon Snow, the warmth that had flooded through her, the skin of her hand still holding a pleasant tingle from his lips.

She cleared her throat. “He does seem a capable fighter.” Turning to look at the older man, she gave a quirk of her lips. “A good thing considering he’s a potential ally.”

Davos returned the smile. “A good thing indeed. I’ll give you fair warning, he’s better with a sword than he is with words. Smart lad, but no use for clever talk.”

“That’s a way to put it.” Tyrion joined them, humor lacing his voice. “I think it best that we keep up the act of not knowing him until he can be released.”

Daenerys felt the brief surge of annoyance at the continuing facade.

“I will make myself scarce.” Davos gave a nod. “Better keep the wolf away from him or he’ll give it away. I can take him to my room if you would like?”

Ghost had settled in with Daenerys with an ease that had surprised her. Even more was her quick growing attachment to him. He followed her around like a hound, asking for a petting whenever she stopped long enough, giving unsettling stares to those who ventured too close.

“He can stay in my room.” Both men turned to look at her. “I would like him to be reunited with Lord Snow. And as a part of this game, to make it easier for us to part him from his captors, I’ll be taking him to my chambers.” It was to be an act, but she felt the heat rise in her face at the thought of Jon Snow in her personal room, amongst her private things. She wanted it. More than she should.

“As you wish Your Grace.” The nod was approving, but she couldn’t read the look on Lord Tyrion’s face.

She did not care one bit. It was time to move this charade forward.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Excitement had been rolling through the bowels of small arena after the fighting. Jon had listened, keeping to himself as he stowed away his things, men praising the beauty of the Queen, the talk of coin made from the betting.

Because he had done well and invited to the pyramid, requested specifically to be there, an old tub had been filled, one that has seen better days but held enough water for him to wash, scrub the dirt from under his nails, rinse the sweat from his hair. Sitting in tepid water he tried to not recall seeing her rising from her own tub, bewitching and pale, or feel the humm that had settled into his bones with her hand in his. 

Needing an answer for the myriad of emotions in his chest, he decided it was the aftermath of battle that had his blood up and singing. Family relation or not, she was stunning. She would have this affect on any man.

Now they were on their way to meet the silver haired Queen and he forced himself to put those thoughts firmly aside, to take in his surroundings as they began his short journey to the great pyramid, trying to learn the city and its inhabitants while he’s had the chance. Dusk was falling slowly around them, shadows bleeding into grey as they crossed through the streets. Jon walked complacently between guards who chattered amongst themselves as they headed towards the feast they had been invited to.

And he was decidedly not listening to the accompanying men whispering about the Queen looking for a new paramour. Absolutely not going to think about that. Or the way she had looked standing up there watching him. No, he would concentrate on getting a message to Davos, hope that he would have a moment with the Queen, or even Tyrion Lannister, a surprise to see up on that podium. 

He changed to his focus the Unsullied standing in formation as they made their way up the steps, ignoring the lethargy in his legs as they climbed. He was tired, body and mind, worried that his wits might be dulling as the night closed in around them. Needing to remember this was about the Army of the Dead, about humanity. He needed her for this. 

A screech interrupted the night, then another, loud, wings stirring the air before the dragon settled onto the side of the pyramid, joining the other two, draping over it like a panther on a limb. Jon felt a tingle of awareness run over his skin, like he could reach out and touch one, to see if they felt as hot as he imagined, the urge to do so almost overwhelming. He clenched his fists at his side, trying to keep amusement off his face as the rest of the men flinched, bits of dust and debri falling around them as they walked through the entrance.

And as easily as that, Jon was inside gathering with other men as they stood around in awe. He understood it well, feeling out of place in this land of sand.

“Our Queen thanks you all for joining us.” A woman appeared, lovely and young. “There has been a feast prepared. Please come and enjoy it.”

There was a murmur of appreciation from the small crowd and Jon, trying to be unobtrusive as he looked for Davos or even Melisandre, let the motion of bodies sweep him in the direction they were being ushered. Until a hand stopped him. He looked at the owner of the hand, a stern looking Unsullied.

“The Queen requests your presence.”

The two guards that had brought him frowned, but followed as Jon was led by the room full of mouthwatering food smells and deeper into the pyramid.

~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~

He was just as strikingly handsome as she remembered, Daenerys decided, taking in the dark eyes, plump lips. He moved as easily over the stone as he had the sand, the thin tunic not hiding the flex of sinew and muscle. For a short amount of time she had wondered if the heat of the sun, the wine and atmosphere had heightened everything about him until she had been fooled by her own mind.

She had not been.

Sitting in her chair, chin held high as Missandei announced her list of accomplishments, watching the man stride across the hall not at all cowed by the men trailing behind him like dogs, or by the grandeur of his surroundings. He was not trying to intimidate, just a natural ease of a man confident in his abilities.

There was a heat kindling low in her stomach by the time he stopped, Missandei also concluding, leaving the room silent as Daenerys let her gaze travel over the man salaciously, enjoying his comely features. It was meant to be a ploy for his guards, unfortunately his captors were nowhere in sight, but she found it an easy task, the sable eyes doing their own measuring.

She’d been looked at by many men, familiar with desire written in their features, her body an object of lust. It was there, want, held with the air of slight annoyance. As if he felt the same pull she did, the _something_ in the air between them and as is if that feeling for him was unwanted.

 _That_ was something she was unfamiliar with and Daenerys was not sure if she approved or disliked it.

With his once again refusal to bow, a trill running through her veins at his blatant refusal to use protocol, she stood in a rustle of fabric, shoulders squared as took her time. Pausing to pick up a date, nibbling at it as she eyed Jon Snow up and down again. 

A tick started in his jaw, creating an urge to trail her fingers over the scar running over his eye. “You will do.” She watched him eyes darken before she turned her back to him. “Come along with me.”

Without looking to see if he followed, knowing they would, she started to her private chambers, ignoring the build up of energy inside of her. This was a meeting of strategy. Nothing more.

~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~

He was impressed at how easily she was able to peel him away from the group. Nobody dared question a Queen, even one dainty enough to fit under his chin. But he could see authority coming off of her in waves, the steel of her spine, something that made him a little short of breath, not sure if he wanted to fall to command or see her reaction to him asserting his own control.

Eyes set on the shapely flair of hips, he acknowledged that he might enjoy the the clothing in Essos. She was wearing a flimsy excuse for a dress that managed to show her shape, most of the skin on her back while still being loose and billowy. It was a deep green, making him long for Winterfell, making him want to see how quickly it could be removed

Fixated on the slope of her neck, he almost walked into the back of her as she suddenly stopped, an arched eyebrow lifting at his blunder and he regained his composure, raising his chin to meet her eyes. _Let her see._

“Leave us.” She commanded, never looking away, her sea eyes bewitching him, making a flash of warmth flow through his body.

Her Unsullied tipped his head, turning abruptly into a solid wall, blocking the men that had come with Jon. A phrase was uttered in a language he didn’t understand, but from the way her Grace stiffened, the defensive straightening of her guard, it was a slight.

“What did they say?” The question fell from him without a thought, his tone demanding in a way unfit for talking to a Queen. But he’d been bucking the line of formalities since he’d first laid eyes on her, not willing to follow the rules.

Either she did not notice or did not care because she gave a small toss of her head. “I believe they mentioned something about the whore Queen fucking the pretty Westerosi.”

A violent urge ran through him, the want to smash their heads to the stone walls and let the blood stain it. A warm hand with a tight grip pulled him from the grim image. He looked down to her hand before looking back to her face. A surge of something else rolled through him.

“Let it be Jon Snow.”

The pleasant burn of her touch was going to drive him mad, making him want to feel her hands on other parts of him. But he had no business with those thoughts and shook his head to clear it. “They should not be allowed to speak such things.” 

A small chuckle filled the air between them, filled the empty space in his chest. 

“Are you defending my honor or taking offense to being called pretty? I can assure you that my honor had withstood worse.” She cocked her head giving him a thorough once over that made him flush and heat build inside of him. “And you are pretty.”

“I am not.” The denial came without thought, a learned reaction as he flushed, shifted on his feet. She found him pleasing the eye and he found he enjoyed that more than he should. To distract himself from such thoughts he looked around, realizing somewhat stupidly that they were in her bed chambers. His knees went shaky as his gaze landed on her big bed, the sudden want to spread her out across it numbing his wits. 

_This could not be why he was really here?_

It was just the two of them, his chest tight when he realized that, head spinning while trying to come up with a reason in why Davos and Tyrion were not also in this room.

He turned back to look at her, the blue of her eyes blazing hot, full lips parted on a breath, his wandering looks of the chambers not unnoticed. It was there again, between them, almost tangible enough to name. He took a step towards her as if pulled. Her mouth opened to speak but her words died with the scrabble of toenails. He ripped his eyes away from her, lustful thoughts distracted by the eager whining of a happy wolf.

“Ghost.” He breathed it out, joy filling him as he dropped to his knees, catching the weight of his companion in the chest, letting it drive him back to sitting. “I’ve missed you.” He confessed, the bubble of happiness erupting in a quick laugh as he ruffled white ears.

The tail beat a steady rhythm onto the floor and he felt a small piece of himself click back into place as Ghost wriggled against him, just as pleased with being reunited. A scuff of a slipper drew him back and cheeks blushing at his enthusiasm, looked back up to the Queen.

“Thank you for taking him in and taking care of him.” He stood up, needing to voice his appreciation. Clearing his throat, he swiped at the stray white hairs adorning his trousers. “And for helping Ser Davos and the Red Woman.” He waved his hand around, trying desperately not to notice the childlike glee that had alighted her face at his and Ghost’s reunion. It filled him with a warmth that had nothing to do with lust.

“I apologize for the secrecy, but we felt it best to keep him in here so that no one would see that he knows you. We are doing our best to get you out with none being the wiser of why. We were afraid if your captors were to get wind of it, you would disappear or end up with a knife between your ribs.”

It made perfect sense, still something inside him stuttered in disappointment and he silently berated himself. He had no cause for that, he was here to make an alliance with her and he needed to remember that, keep it at the front of his mind.

She was still smiling, the cool exterior melted away. “Besides, I could not turn them away. Or not help you. That doesn’t send a good message.” A dainty hand reached out and patted the furred hip of the wolf.

“You have my gratitude.” It was an easy thing to say and mean whole heartedly. Even if he had not been hearing stories about the breaker of chains, this deed, the extravagant affair they were concocting to free him, a stranger, showed her true character. 

The upward twist of her lips twisted his stomach, heating him to his center and he inwardly cursed himself a besotted fool. He gave Ghost another stroke in attempts to gather control of himself as she sat at the table prepared for them, food and wine at ready.

“Please, sit and eat.” She sat and reached for a goblet of wine. Her tone changed slightly, an impish smile curving her lips. “Worry not, My Lord, I’ve found I like very much having your wolf around.”

The air stalled out of him, her eyes holding his in a teasing challenge and he pulled out his own chair, flopping into it, reminding himself he was here for an _alliance_ , that Daenerys Targaryen, this beautiful stranger, was his _Aunt._

“He seems to enjoy being at your side.” Again he was unable to keep the words from pouring out, not sure how to end this game they seemed to have found themselves in. Not sure if he wanted it to stop. He grabbed for his own wine, needing to busy himself.

“He’s fitting in.” She nibbled at a piece of cheese before giving a quick wave of her hand, glancing around. “I have three dragons outside, Unsullied at my door.” She met his eyes. “A wolf in my bed….” 

He choked on his wine. 

“I sleep soundly at night.” 

Words finally failed him, his groin tightened encouraged by imagery brought on by her admission, her husky tone. He tightened the reins of control, not sure how he would sit through the evening across from her watching her plump lips move, the light scent of her perfume burrowing into his senses.

When it became apparent that he would not retort, she placed her hands demurely in her lap, studied his face. ““Your Ser Davos has provided me with some information on why you came all this way to seek me out.”

He let out a long exhale of relief as she navigated them back into safer territory. “What has he told you?”

“Your brother named you King in the North if anything were to befall him.” She moved her hand out as if to cover his before pulling it back. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

The wound in his chest throbbed as if he had just again received the news of Robb. Then a small measure of guilt, caused by not telling her the truth, of not telling anyone the truth, of keeping it buried deep and refusing to pull it out to see the light of day. Once exposed, he would have to exam it, study it carefully, let it grate against festered wounds.

There was no good that could come out of telling Daenerys Targaryen that he was her brother’s son. Not now, not without proof.

He realized they were sitting in silence, a curious look on her pretty face at his hesitation. “Thank you.” He managed in a mumble, pulling his thoughts back together. “He told you then, that we came for an alliance? How much more information did he give?”

With a sigh she settled back in her chair and he once again felt her eyes drag over him, measuring him in more than one way. “Not much. You tell me Jon Snow. I want to hear it from you.”

Ghost’s head rested on his knee and he ruffled the white ears, feeling the wolf’s rumble of content. “I need help Your Grace, taking back Winterfell. My home has been overrun by those loyal to the Lannisters. They killed my father, my brother.” 

It was as much the truth as it was a lie but the weight of it sat heavily within. “I don’t have enough men to take it back, to put the North back to order before the only war that matters is upon us.”

“What do I get out of this alliance My Lord?”

_Anything you want from me._

“The North’s support for the crown. _My_ support as the named King in the North.”

Her smile was calculating. “The North is part of the Seven Kingdoms, is it not?”

He took a bite of the stringy meat as he contemplated his answer. She was shrewd, he realized. Everything she has gained was not due to luck or the power of dragons. There were sharp wits hidden inside a headful of pretty hair. She was dangerous, a combination of power, abilities and undeniable beauty. Men would make fools of themselves to give her what she wanted. And he might be the first one in line to do so. 

“It is, but the North won’t accept a Southern Ruler. Not after everything that’s happened.” _He should not want her this much._ But it would be easier to tell himself to stop breathing than to ignore the pull he felt to her

“Haven’t they accepted one now?” She tossed Ghost a bite of bread.

“By force, Your Grace. By betrayal and force.” There was a large part of him that was glad for her resistance, the refusal to just give in to him. The stubbornness suited her. 

“And are you not planning on taking it by force? I’ve seen you fight, you seem capable of many things.” She locked eyes with him, leaning forward to pop a date into her mouth. 

Giving her a smile full of teeth, he felt flushed, aroused, desperately wanting something else in her mouth instead. He cleared his throat, grappling to keep himself on task. “Taking it back, Your Grace. Winterfell belongs to my family. I’m taking it back.” Slumping he picked up his goblet. “Much as I imagine you think you’ll be doing with the throne.”

Cocking her head with a hint of smile, her voice was smooth. “Fair enough. So, tell me what have you planned Jon Snow. Why would they accept me?”

“Since I’ve been here, I’ve been listening.” He let the air out of his lungs. “The people of Meereen love you…... Maybe not some of them.” A smile quirked the corner of his mouth. “But you’ve made a difference here.”

Her face had lost some of it’s stoic set and Jon could see a faint blush rising up in her cheeks. Something that made something inside him warm for a reason other than lust. There was some of the young woman still inside of her. A piece that still enjoyed a heartfelt compliment.

“I think you could make a difference there. And we will use me as a stepping stone for it.”

“I’m listening.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~

“How do you think they are getting along?”

Davos thought about it, thought about the two personalities and what he had learned about each in time spent with them before forming his answer. “Jon sometimes lacks in the area of words. But Her Grace seems to have patience and willingness to listen.”

Tyrion snorted. “It seems she has a want to see him in person, I’ll give you that.”

“They are young and attractive. Can you blame them?”

“No. Though I was not expecting whatever spectacle that was between them today.” Tyrion turned his glass of water. “I’m glad I like Jon Snow, because I do not think this is going to be an easy endeavor.... Honestly, how well do you think this alliance is going to work?”

Davos sat back, understanding what the Hand of the Queen was asking. “I think he’s giving too much benefit to the North. I don’t believe it is going to be as easy as he thinks.”

Tyrion made a noise of agreement. “I agree, that it’s a blind spot for most honorable men of the North. I cannot imagine they will be willing to accept him as King knowing he hands it all over to a Targaryen.” He paused for a moment. “Though I do agree with sorting out an alliance.”

Davos began to smile as he caught on to Tyrion’s line of thought. He raised his glass. “It would be difficult for them to be angry if he was to stay more than just Warden of the North.” 

Tyrion raised his eyebrows. “I agree. Let’s hope they don’t fuck it all up before we even get to discuss the possibilities.”

Davos let out a sigh.

~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~

“As named King in the North by the last King in the North, we take Winterfell and when it is all over, the North will back you for the Throne.”

“With you stepping down to Warden of the North?”

Some of the tension drained from his shoulders, while something else sat heavy in his guts. “Ned Stark held that title. I suppose I could do the same.”

“So you’ll bend the knee?” 

Another flush a heat ran through him. There was no double meaning to her words, but still the lust built, her proximity making him a bit mad.

The reluctance of bending the knee to Daenerys had been the conversation multiple times on their voyage. Davos was of the opinion that Jon was placing too much faith in the Northmen, that their pride would get in the way, their own stubbornness. But he was desperate, hoping once the real threat was revealed, everyone will come to their senses. He hated giving up the North. He wanted to win the fight for the living.

“They will not like me bending the knee, but if you can provide what we need, I do not see any other way.” He reached across the table for the pitcher that was sitting by her hand, let his fingers brush hers as he grasped the handle. “And I believe you can provide what I need.”

There was the satisfaction of her eyes widening before she gathered herself fingers drumming lightly on the table. “What else do you want out of this alliance, My Lord?”

_You._

He almost uttered it outloud, biting his cheek to stay silent for a moment longer, letting his eyes roam freely over her. Finally, taking a deep breath he steeled himself. “There’s a bigger threat than Cersei Lannister on the throne. It’s coming for everyone and we’ve got to stop it.”

“We must stop it? Tell me why and what it is.”

“It’s coming for all of us and it doesn’t care if we are Lannister or Stark or Snow or Targaryen.” His throat closed up for a moment and he had to close his eyes. “I've got to stop it, Your Grace.” He opened them again. “I have seen them first hand and know what is coming. I don’t think I can stop them without your help.”

“What is coming?” Those stunning eyes were narrowed with impatience. 

“The army of the dead.” He frowned at her scoff. “I’ve seen them, I’ve fought them. I’ve watched men die from them and then rise back up, shells of what they once were. Just some sort of dead thing bent on killing everythin’’ in sight.”

Her eyebrows pinched together as she mulled over his words. “Surely you must know how mad that seems?”

Running a hand over his face, he tried to ignore the growing despair. He was fucking this up at a rapid pace. “Yes. But it’s _true_.”

Fingers laced together in her lap she gave him a hard stare. “Let’s say your mind isn’t addled. That there really are dead men out there. How do you expect me to help? How do you kill them?”

Grabbing desperately at the thread of hope, fingers rubbing together in anxiety, he cleared his throat. “Dragonglass works, though we need more of it. Valyrian steel, though that’s impossible to find and nobody knows how to make it.” He looked down, weighing his words carefully before looking back up, hoping he was conveying the seriousness of it all. “Fire kills them.”

“Fire?” She sucked in air through closed teeth as she understood his meaning. “You mean to use my dragons?”

“Yes.” Bluntness was his only option. “They would be the greatest weapon we could use.”

“They are not weapons. They are my children.” Her voice had turned to ice, her eyes the same.

“Apologies Your Grace.” He curled his fingers into Ghost’s fur, realizing he was touching a nerve, treading on dangerous ground. “I meant no offense. But we need you for this. I need you for this.”

Restless she stood, turning her back to him to stare out over the city. “You understand how impossible this seems? Dead men?”

There was a want to go to her, put his hands on the skin bared by the lack of dress, bury his nose at her throat. A whiplash of feelings, his mind clouded as he tried vainly to keep himself focused. _He wanted her so badly he could taste it. Knew if she offered, he could not deny himself._

“I know how it sounds. I imagine it sounds like a story I’ve heard since I’ve been here. One about a young woman who walked into a funeral pyre with three dragon eggs and came out unburnt and with dragons.”

“You’ve seen my dragons. They are real.” She turned back to him, the dark of night behind her, curvy frame a silhouette, candlelight flickering over her hair. 

He stood, the thread pulling his feet forward, towards her. “Aye, I have.” He made sure he stopped a respectable distance away. Longed to be closer. “Which means you’ve made the impossible happen. I know this sounds mad, but it’s true. All of it.” He held his hands out at his sides in surrender.

“Can you show them to me?”

~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Have they killed each other yet?”

Missandei just raises her eyebrows at Tyrion’s question as she took a chair at the table. Ser Davos slid her over a goblet of wine.

“They seem to be getting along.” She took a sip. “They didn’t even notice me checking in on them.”

“Were they arguin’?” Davos scowled. “He’s bloody stubborn about things.”

She hid her smile in her glass, amused at the man’s frustration of his King. “Not a vicious argument, more along the lines of tension in the air.”

“Ah my dear Missandei.” Tyrion leaned back to look at the ceiling. “That tension is not from arguing.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~

“So we have an agreement?” She looked over to where he was standing, the very sight of him causing any flutter at her core. He was infuriating with his spares words, the earnesty in which he spoke them. He didn’t seem mad, but he was asking her to believe in something so far fetched, it was difficult to imagine.

“Well, we have an agreement to sit down with our advisors to come up with a proper alliance.” He gave the hint of a smile.

“I can invite them in now.” Daenerys spoke the words but did not move, not quite ready to give up her time with him. She took a step closer, almost eye level with him being a step above him.

It was unnerving to this enthralled by a man, a mess of contradictions with his meager details and ample mouth. To find thrill in how he tried not to notice her, but his eyes still tracked her. His excitement of finding his wolf, his embarrassment that she was witness to their joy had filled her heart. She wanted to know more of him, to see if he was the man she’d seen in the arena, lethal and powerful or the impatient man who had sat through a meal with her, or the man who was kind hearted, who had given up his freedom for friends, one who was brave enough to take a chance on a Queen he knew nothing about.

Her fingers tingled with the urge to touch him.

“You’ll have to speak with them.” His gaze raked her from foot to head, eyes hot and flinty. “May I ask, what plan is in place for getting me out from the arena and away from my captors?”

The heat that had settled over her, dulled as she shook her head to clear it. “What do you mean? You’re out.”

“I have to go back.” There was confusion on his brow before it settled into stubborn. “There are other men in there, men that did not choose this. They need released.”

Huffing in frustration, she knew he was right. Admired his apparent selflessness. More than admired. 

Apparently he took her silence as a denial, Northern brogue thick as he tried to convince her. “I need to go back Your Grace. Otherwise what happens to the other men? You and your clever council need to figure out how you’re going to punish these men. Because they need punished. And be swift about it. But if I don’t go back, then how much worse will it be for the innocents?”

 _Something_ fluttered inside of her, hot and needy. “You are far too honorable, Jon Snow.”

A cloud came over his face. “I am not at all honorable.”

She took a step closer, wanting to run her fingers over the scars on his face. “I must disagree with you on that. Most men would be happy to stay here.”

Black eyes met hers with an intensity that made her belly clench. “You have no idea how much I would like to stay.” 

It was almost a growl that turned her insides to a molten liquid. “I will have a plan. You will be released.” She promised, her own voice sounding strangely raspy.

“Good.” 

There was the sound of footsteps on the stone, a warning that their time was almost up.

~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~

Grey Worm shifted his weight as the two men came into view. They had come with this King in the North, as his guards. He felt a wave of anger at men thinking that people should still be owned. That anyone would defy his Queen.

“You are not permitted to go in.”

The first man scoffed, pale eyes flickering over him. “I’ve come to retrieve our man.”

Grey Worm put his hand over the hilt of his knife. “Our Queen is not to be disturbed. You will wait.”

The men grumbled, but settled back against the wall.

~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~

Daenerys Targaryen was standing less than an arm’s length away and his feet felt stuck to the floor. He knew his time with her was almost up, for now, and everything was rushing back to him, all the want clouding his mind.

He could have her on that bed in ten steps, her tone and looks making him think it would not be unwanted. But he was here to forge an alliance, not fall into bed with the Mother of Dragons.

“I suppose I should bid you a good night, My Lord. It seems your guards have decided we’ve spent enough time in each other’s company.” Her voice lowered. “Though I’d rather feed them to Drogon.”

Normally he would be amused at her obvious dislike of not controlling the situation, but the realization of what everyone _thought_ they were doing had taken over everything.

“They will never believe that we were in here-“ trailing off, he felt the heat rise up in face, a twinge of his cock at the mere thought of him and her.

“That we were?” Her tone had a hint of humor, a dollop of _something_ else. “Why would they not?”

From deep within bravery pushed out. “Because you’re not nearly mussed enough.” He took a step closer, noticing the pulse in her neck jump. Reached out and toyed with the hair that was falling over her shoulder.

“I’m not?” It was a roughened whisper, her eyes flickering over his lips before meeting his eyes. “It can be done without muss.”

He bit back a groan at the glassy look, pupils wide, her mouth parting to suck in a breath. 

“No.” Gods, his voice had gone rough, filled with every lusty depraved thought of what he wanted to do to her. He pushed the weight of hair off her shoulder, placed his palm there, the skin soft and warm under his touch, thumb pressing to the tick in her neck. “Not if I got my hands on you.”

The air thickened around them, everything seeming to move slower as her chin tilted up, a silent invite, a welcome challenge. Sliding his fingers into the mass of silver, he cradled the back of her head, letting her lean into him.

The first brush of his lips against hers made him tighten his grip in her hair, the other resting low on her back to pull her close. She made a sound in the back of her throat and he chased it, catching her top lip neatly, testing the shape of it.

A dull roar was in his ears, everything around them fading as her tongue reached out, his mouth opening, the soft slide as she started to control and conquer.

With a growl he moved her backwards, heart racing in his chest, everything on fire as she stopped abruptly against the table. Her fingers were digging into shoulders, teeth clanking in the wet mess of melded mouths and he needed the taste of her more than he needed air.

Fingers slid under his tunic, playing with the waistband of his trousers, her neck exposed as she pulled back to suck in a mouthful of air. He took advantage of it, nipping at the enticing pulse, her nails leaving furrows in his back.

Scooping her up, he dropped her on the edge of the wood, pushed between the thighs she opened, desperate to get closer, to bury himself inside her heat. She was pulling him back down with a whine, biting his bottom lip and he dove back in, anchoring her by the hips as he plundered her mouth.

She was an active participant, tongue curling behind his teeth, slicking along his own as she pulled at him, his mind spinning with _her._

A hand sliding into the neck of his tunic snapped him back and he grabbed it, panting as left her mouth, her sweet succulent mouth, in order to press a kiss to her palm trying to regain his senses. 

She was a vision, messy hair, lips swollen, chafed from his beard. He was aching for _more,_ confident that he could fall into the chair and pull her on top of him, slide into the beckoning wet heat that he could feel through his thin trousers. 

The intent was to pull away, to stop this before it went any farther, but she made a noise of discontent, hips rolling towards him with encouragement. It snapped, the tether of his control and hooking his hands behind her knees he yanked her forward, sliding her to the edge.

An undignified squeak was heard, causing him to grin as he gathered her dress up to her hips. She was blessedly bare underneath, pink and ripe and he leaned back up, catching her parted mouth easily as he slid his finger along her slit.

It was his turn to groan at finding her wet and ready, the greedy part of him ready to unleash his cock and plunge into her. Through his clouded mind, lust rippling off him in waves, her mouth moving frantically to keep up with him, he knew he wouldn't last. He needed her unraveled and undone before anything else.

Gathering her up, an armful of soft curves and hindering fabric he strode over to the bed, setting her down to blanket her, bear her down into the mattress with his weight. She growled, teeth set in his neck, her hands ripping at his tunic in her struggle to get to skin. 

With a bite to her mouth, he caught her hands, pinning them above her head, giving her a soft kiss as an apology before using his free hand to pull her dress off her shoulders.

Pale round breasts were freed, rosey tipped, a delightful handful as he pushed one towards his mouth, her now freed hands settling in his hair as he sucked. Her nipple puckered in response, her hips moving to him and he fought the urge to bite, to mark her up, everything inside him screaming for him to _claim_ her.

Daenerys pushed at him and he let her wriggle out of her dress, helping himself to mouthfuls of skin as it was revealed to him, a fire settling inside of him, his cock desperate to be freed the confines of his trousers.

_Not yet._

Her belly was soft as he mouthed his way down, pausing a moment to adjust in between her thighs, looking up over sweeps to where her eyelids were fluttering, bottom lip held firmly between white teeth.

The sound of her broken breathing goaded him on as he pushed her thighs wider, allowing him room to settle between them, giving him a better view of his goal. Hands settled in his hair, tugging at it, pulling it loose from its confines, her fingers eager. Her tugging of his curls echoed all the way down to his cock. The scent of her arousal filled his nose, his mouth watering as he eyed her swollen cunt, his own hips grinding into the mattress for relief. 

_“Jon.”_

The whimper of his name almost pushed him over the edge, instead he closed his mouth over her in a groan. There was a flurry of movement, her thighs trying to close as her hips rolled, his arm pushing her down, keeping her splayed open. His tongue moved, flicking and jabbing, learning what she liked. A suck on her nub had her jolting with a curse, a warbled cry as he laved at flatly. 

He kept his eyes open, measuring the flush covering her skin, concentrating on her to ignore the ache in his stones, the need to be buried into the tight heat he was currently exploring.

She was unraveling, the sweet and salty musk of her in his mouth, intoxicating. Trailing his fingers over her, spreading the wet around, listening to the crescendo of cries spilling from her, had him almost frantic. He slid a finger inside of her, then another, cursing as the silken walls grabbed at him greedily. 

Only the worry of disappointment had him ignoring his own want, crooking his fingers to rub inside of her, closing his mouth back over the swollen nub to suck. She broke with a wail, fingers pulling at his hair, strong thighs closing around him as she shuddered and shook, flooding his mouth with her essence.

He worked her through it, lapping up what he could, addicted and selfish. When she finally pushed at him with a whine of sensitivity, he went, nipping sharply at her hipbone before he levered himself back over her.

She met him eagerly, not at all offended by his mouth saturated with her and he groaned as she clung to him, his mouth treating hers just as he had her cunt moments before. He plucked at her pebbled nipples as he kissed her, letting her warm back up to him.

The want to have his skin on hers battled against the need to keep his scars covered and was decided as she got her hands in the fabric, pulling at it sharply, the look on her face demanding. He let her wrestle it over his head, watching her face carefully as she took all the ugliness in.

But the Queen was full of surprises, not hesitating as she pressed her lips to the center of his chest, the sensation burning deep inside of him, branding him as hers, the gods help him, dainty fingers pulling at the laces of his trousers.

With a groan he was freed, shucking free of them, catching her eager hands as they went to fist him. “I’m barely hanging on here.” He panted against her shoulder.

A purr vibrated in her throat and she settled back into the mattress, raising her hands above her head in a surprisingly submissive gesture. “I’m at your mercy then My Lord.”

Grinding out the word _fuck_ between gritted teeth, almost undone by her actions, he settled into the cradle of her hips, allowing himself the time to stroke between her legs with his fingers. She was beautiful, hair tangled around them, mouth shiny and red, calling out his name, He strummed at her nub, her breath catching, legs falling open to allow more room for him, the flush rising back up in her cheeks.

It was overpowering, the need built inside of him, dulling everything else around until all he could see was her vibrant colors, hear her cries, smell her scent. Unable to resist a moment longer, he lined them up, moving swiftly and sheathing himself in one thrust. She keened at the intrusion and he bit his lip at her walls closing around him, so hot and tight he thought his head might explode.

His heart was pounding wildly, heat rushing through him, everything settling south as he slid his arms under her back, a firm grip on her shoulders, licking a stripe up her neck as she arched under him. He pulled back his hips back, then thrust again, holding her still, dipping his head down, needing to kiss her. 

She made a noise that vibrated against his lips, legs coming up to wrap around his waist, his name hissed as he did it again, then again. Moving with him, nails anchoring into his back as he buried himself as deeply as he could go.

He wasn’t going to last, everything was spiraling out of control, the knot in his spine tightening to an impossible point as he buried his head in her neck. She cried out in his ear and he was lost, everything inside him snapping in a flood of heat. Grinding deeply into her while he groaned, his rhythm faltering as he flooded within her pulsing body. 

Bonelessly he slumped into her, filled with a weightless euphoria, waiting for the wave of shame to fill him. _She was his Aunt. He had irresponsibly spilled inside of her. Where was his remorse?_ But it never came, only sated relief, her hands molding over the muscles in his back.

All was silent except their breathing, his body slowly recovering, Daenerys soft and warm underneath him. He buried his nose into her throat and inhaled. He wanted to stay, to curl his body around her and sleep, to have her again and again. But he knew he couldn’t, nuzzling whatever soft skin was available to him.

She seemed unwilling to rouse, despoiled grace amidst her plentiful covers and reluctantly he rolled carefully off of her, enjoying her whine of loss. Shrugging back into his clothing, blurry blue eyes following his movement, he paused to place one last kiss at the hollow of her neck, waited until her head raised back up, until she focused on him.

“Make it a public punishment, Your Grace. Let them see what it means to cross you.”

He indulged himself with one last kiss on her ravaged mouth, her low moan lighting his inside again, before he stepped back and turned to the white ball of fur stretched out along the rug.

“Stay here Ghost.”

The wolf grumbled and hoisted himself to his paws, managing to slink on the bed and stare accusingly Jon. He felt the slight annoyance of jealousy at his damned wolf getting to curl up at the end of the bed while he was walking out alone. He let himself be consoled by the fact she watched his every step across the room.

“Jon Snow.”

She was propped up on her elbows, a purple mark above a breast from his attentions and determination on her face. “Tomorrow.”

His heart skipped a beat. “Aye, tomorrow.”

The guards were waiting for him, Daenerys’ faithful Unsullied at her door. His face heated at the realization they had listened to every noise that had come from that room. Giving himself a moment to reflect back on the feeling of it, he decided did not care that much. He knew he would have plenty on his mind that would leave no room for worrying about their envy.

He squared his shoulders, gave a defiant look to the men escorting him away. “Shall we leave?”

~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up- 
> 
> Freeing Jon
> 
> The agony of guilt (he’s not getting out of his decisions without serious reflection of his actions)
> 
> A council meeting- finally 
> 
> Probably some smut for good measure.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last day of fighting and Jon is freed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you aliciutza for being my pinch beta.. all the love to you.. everyone, she’s amazing. Go read her stuff.
> 
> It’s been a while, so hopefully this extra long chapter makes up for it.

 

  

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

~*~*~ **Jon** ~*~*~

 

 

The candle was burning low, a dim flickering light in the harsh room as Jon shifted on his cot trying to get comfortable. He was exhausted, had been tired even before meeting Daenerys Targaryen and now he hadn’t one bit of energy left.

_Gods, Daenerys Targaryen._

He should have been stronger, able to control himself. He had been too forward, then taken without regards to anything else except the feel of her wrapped tightly around his cock. He should be horrified and repulsed with himself, she was his Aunt and he had fucked her like his life had depended on it. But, he could summon no regret for his actions, could not find it in him to care, only seeing her as the beautiful silver haired stranger he had come to ask to save them.

Muted voices came from down the hall and Jon rolled to his side, his back to the wall, not at all trusting of the others. The guards had been trying to provoke him into a rage, taunting him, insulting her, but he had gritted his teeth and remained silent, trying to let it roll off his back like a duck with water. Unable to get a rise from him, they muttered words foreign to his ears and threw him back into the spare room, locking the door behind them.

When no footsteps came closer, he let his eyes flutter closed, savoring the lingering taste of her in his mouth, trying not to imagine how soon he could be back between those firm thighs. The sudden forbidden thought of staying in Meereen came to him, of convincing her to let Westeros go. He had no family left and so they could stay here in the hot sun where she was already Queen, away from the bitter cold and almost certain death that waited across the sea.

A roll of his stomach, a clutching in his guts made him sit up, the taste of guilt flooding his mouth. He may not have any siblings left, but there were still plenty of people he cared about. Even those he’d never met did not deserve the fate of what closed in around them. Dropping his head into his hands, he chastised himself for giving that dream even a moment of consideration.

_But you, Lord Snow, you’ll be fighting their battles forever._

Those words sat heavy in his chest, the weight of it all sitting on his shoulders, the regret that he would be handing part of the responsibility to her. It was not as it should be, but it was as it must be. He needed her. Everyone needed her.

For now he was ignoring the voice inside clamoring for attention, the one wanting to know how he could relish the feeling of being intimate with her Grace, _Daenerys_ , without being truthful, withholding the knowledge of who he was. That was another black cloud over his head. The secret of _who he was_ , casting a dark shadow. Could he live without telling her? Telling anyone?

Shifting over to his back, he rubbed a hand over his face, knotted scars catching on the bristles of beard. He’d live with the omittance for a bit longer before he decided on what to do with the information.

 

 

~*~*~*~

 

 

_She was sprawled on her stomach, hair falling down around her shoulders, eyes open but heavy lidded with the need of sleep. Fingers traced patterns on the sheets below her, sheets that contained the mixed smell of them both, the same smell covering her skin, strongest between her thighs._

_He wriggled a little closer until toes curled up in the fur on his shoulder, his tail sweeping out slowly in contentment. He didn’t like being separated again, but if his man wanted him to stay, then this was a good place to be, warm, belly full, lazingly guarding the woman with a stern voice and easy touches._

_A noise of contentment came from the woman as she rolled over in a languid stretch before gathering the blanket over herself, covering bare flesh that carried the marks of his person. Rough claims of mating._

_Shifting he settled his head over her legs, let his ears flatten back to his head. He’d keep her safe as she slept._

 

 

~*~*~*~

 

 

He woke with a gasp, disoriented as he tried to gather his wits, piece back together where he was. He could still feel her feet against him as he sat up and went to the basin, splash water on his face. And even though there was a city between them, he could smell her skin, his senses sharp as he inhaled the scent of their mingled releases.

Blowing out a breath, he went back to his cot, his head filled with Daenerys as he crawled back into the blankets and closed his eyes.

 

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

~*~*~ **Daenerys** ~*~*~

  

Steam was rising from the copper tub, the water heated to scalding, her skin turning a pleasant bright pink as she sat, soaking in the heat, let it absorbed any soreness left from her frantic coupling with Jon Snow.

_Jon Snow._

Even his name brought her desire, knowledge of what he looked like unbridled and wild, keeping the edges of her mind occupied. There was a craving that hadn’t left, even if she was left slightly sore between her legs, a craving that she wanted to try and sate again, to watch those dark eyes drinking in her pleasure before he broke on his own.

She should be focusing on the questions left unanswered, the puzzles he had brought forth with his cryptic tales instead of mooning over the previous night. Instead, fingers were starting to creep down her belly, a poor mimic of how his touch had felt, when footsteps were heard, Ghost rolling up from his side to keep a wary eye on whoever dared disturb them.

It was Missandei, sweeping in with a sly smile on her pretty face, raised eyebrows as she took in Daenerys soaking. “Jon Snow is pleasing to look upon.”

The tone gave away nothing, but yet Daenerys still sat higher up, breasts peeking just above the waterline as she looked down and winced. Gathering herself, she looked back up to the amused face of the other woman. “Very pleasing.”

They shared a smile, Missandei lacing her fingers together at her front. “The white dress? The one that will cover your chest.”

With a sigh of amusement- she seemed unable to summon any regret- Daenerys dropped back down until she was chin level in the water. “And my neck?”

“He appears to have left that mostly unmarked, Your Grace.”

With a noise of relief, she flicked water at Ghost’s nose when the direwolf put his head over the side and busied herself by watching Missandei set out her clothing for the day. “He told me stories.” She waited until Missandei turned back to look at her. “Tales of things I do not understand.”

“And is he willing to explain until you do understand?”

She pursed her lips in thought, bringing forth of what she had learned about the man, splashing a little more water at the waiting wolf as she contemplated. “I believe he is.”

 

 

 ~*~*~*~*~

 

 

Grey Worm listened to her, attentive and carefully as she laid bare her plan, the punishment she sought for Grazdan zo Galare and Oznak zo Pahl, the men responsible for Jon’s imprisonment, for defying her laws so easily. He nodded and offered his own suggestions, helping her tailor the retribution to a custom fit, one that would speak loudly to every language.

Satisfied that they had chosen a final conclusion to the act, she continued on. It was time to face Tyrion and Davos, to ready themselves for the final day at the arena. With that behind her, she would be able to focus on Westeros and taking back her family’s legacy.

“Your Grace.”

The voice of Ser Davos caught up to her before the man himself and she stopped and waited. She had not spoken to him as of yet and Jon never made it as far as seeing the man the previous night. “Ser Davos, I see you are ready for the day's activities.”

“You sent him back.”

There was hurt in his tone, a little anger and she fought back a wince at how cold it must seem, that she had Jon in the safety of her embrace and then put him back into harm’s way. Her voice was little more than a whisper. “I tried to convince him to stay.”

Davos let out a sigh, pieces of the puzzle slipping into place. “He wanted to go back until you could free them all, didn’t he?”

There was a clutch in her chest, dangerously close to heart, the feeling unfamiliar but not entirely unwelcome. A short span of time in Jon’s company and she was struck by his presence, all too willing for more of it. “Yes.”

“Foolish damned man.” It was uttered with equal parts of exasperation and fondness.

“It will be done today. That I promise. Jon Snow returns to us by nightfall .” She ignored the way Davos’ brow lifted at her easy use of _us_ and plunged forward. “I must ask your opinion on something he spoke of.”

They stopped and Davos turned all of his attention to her. “The army of the dead?”

“Yes.” She blew out a breath of relief, let her hand flutter at her side. “It seems so impossible, a tale told by a mad man.”

“Do you believe Jon Snow to be mad?” Those eyes studied her carefully, ready to weigh her words cautiously.

“No.” Shaking her head, she said it out loud for the first time, the truth of it ringing clearly. “I don’t. He seems honest to a fault, not one for made up or fancy stories. But still…” she trailed off, letting her eyes flicker above Davos’ head for a moment.

“It’s a difficult thing, to believe dragons are real, but yet, there they are.”

She offered him a small smile as she remembered their birth. “That was no easy task.”

“I would assume not.” He offered her one back before drawing his features to serious again. “I’ve seen many a thing that most could not imagine possible. Unexplainable things that no one else would trust to be true. Yet they happened.”

He spoke with such conviction that she knew he believed in it, whatever his stories may be. And somehow she understood that Jon was wrapped up in the middle of all the stories.

“Are you going to help us, Your Grace?”

Huffing out a breath she wanted to give the answer he sought, a yearning for Jon no doubt pushing it along. But still, _an army of dead men?_ “I want to form an alliance with Jon Snow, the named King in the North, but I hesitate until we can talk about terms.” She hoped he could see the truth on her face, hear the honesty in her voice. “I am not sure that I am convinced of the dead men terrorizing the living, but I am not dismissing it.”

Relief was evident as Davos’ shoulders slumped, a heavy weight being dropped from them. “‘Tis fair.”

They turned to walk again, footsteps soundly in the quiet of the air, the burning curiosity bubbling under the surface until she could take no more. She stopped, Davos halting beside her.

“You say that you have seen many things that are impossible, does one of those _things_ , include how Lord Snow is alive with a chest riddled with knife wounds?”

Davos’ eyebrows lifted at her. “Oh, let you see his scars, did he?”

The heat rose up in her face, the urge to squirm gripping her tightly. But she held fast, keeping his eye. “Yes.”

He did not question why she has seen them, but Daenerys realized he probably had no need to. She had taken Jon into her private quarters and they were both adults, untethered to any promises. Still, the blush stayed in her cheeks making her feel foolish and giddy.

“Well then. Yes, it does.”

“Is it how he was released from the Night’s Watch? My Lord Hand informed me those are vows for life.” The information had been gnawing at her, the pieces not quite lining up like they should. It should have been enough to dissuade her, but the earnesty in Jon Snow’s demeanor kept her from turning her back to it.

“I mean no disrespect, Your Grace, but as mentioned before, I believe Jon himself needs to give you the answer to that question.”

She hummed with dissatisfaction, but understood Ser Davos’ reasoning. And if she had been behaving as a ruler and not a woman drawn to a man, distracted by a handsome face and solemn eyes, she may have kept enough wits to ask those important questions.

“You are correct.” She folded her hands back in front of her as she began to walk, impatience chasing at her heels. “Please, Ser Davos, make sure you bring Lord Snow’s sword with you. It is time for us to deliver justice.

 

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

~*~*~ **Jon** ~*~*~

  

He could feel the hostility surrounding him, coating over him, layer after layer, men staring at him as he shrugged off his armor, breathing heavily from his first fight. Ignoring them, he leaned against the wall, watching the contenders step out into the arena, wiped sweat off the back of his neck.

“You are not popular today.”

Jon looked over to see Togosh approaching him, the younger man apparently his only ally amongst the men. “Aye. It doesn’t matter.” He glanced back to the arena before back. “You are still here? Are your obligations not over?” He slid his armor back on, the heat of wearing it encasing him again as he fastened the buckles and readied himself.

Togosh shook his head. “No, I will stay.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask _why_ , his obligation should have been filled, when one of the other men pushed forward, ugly face turned up in a snarl.

“You spent a night in that silver cunt? Fucking the foreign Queen?”

The anger vibrated through him, jaw clenching in effort to not turn to the man and spill his guts on the ground, tie them in bloody knots.

“Are you a whore’s whore now, Westerosi?”

The tether on his anger snapped and he spun, fists balled up as Togosh stepped forward, devious look on his face.

“You jealous Orlos? She didn’t like your ugly face?”

The man gave a bellow and charged forward, the mob of men cheering out as Jon sidestepped quickly, catching a glancing fist on his jaw, teeth clanking together. Hands on the man’s armor, he yanked, hard, letting the momentum spin the man into the stone wall.

There was a dull thud, Orlos crumpling to the ground and Jon turned quickly, rolling up to the balls of his feet, ready to defend himself from the rest of the horde.

Angry shouts pushed through the bodies, as did the guards, faces scowling as they pushed everyone back, arriving at the scene while Orlos rocked on his knees, head cradled in his hands.

“What’s going on here?” A guard shoved himself into Jon’s space with a sneer and Jon leashed the anger bubbling in him. “You starting fights, _jaos_?”

“Orlos tripped.” Togosh shrugged his shoulders and smiled. “Clumsy”

“His lip is bleeding.” A finger pointed at Jon.

He touched the corner of his mouth, thumb hitting a split in the lip. “I was just out in the arena. Or did you forget?”

Nobody came forth and called out the lies, Orlos finally making it to his feet, eyes downcast, accepting the excuses to keep a small amount of pride. The crowd dissipated as the guards grumbled and left, staring at Jon in a way that was supposed to intimidate. He flashed them a smile, an action not wise, but unable to help himself.

As they left with hard stares, he sagged against the wall, letting himself slide down it, legs tired from fighting. Togosh settled in beside him, content on being an outcast by his side, Jon feeling the relief at the camaraderie. “Why are you here, Togosh? You’ve told me Queen Daenerys is good, but you are still here against your will.

It had been something nagging at him, a relentless itch between his shoulders. He knew it was difficult to help everyone and she would be releasing them all from this horrid situation, but the curiosity was still there. _How could they still adore her if they still ended up here?_

“My sister belonged to a pleasure house.”

Jon ground his teeth together hard enough he felt it echo in his jaw, the anger stemming from the word _belonged_. The fury that it was said so easily from this man, that ownership had been so long a part of their lives.

“But Queen Daenerys freed us, our chains are no more.” The small smile fell. “But these ones want to keep my sister, she’s very popular. Makes money for them.” He tossed a small pebble at the pitcher of water. “They keep pushing and pushing until I agree to this and she stays out of there and away from greedy men. I should have tried for a council with the Queen, but was afraid my sister would be gone. So I am here.”

Rubbing a thumb over his forehead, Jon understood what had caused Togosh to go back to a life that was not of his choosing and it was frustrating. “What trade did you have?”

“I work in the Bay- taking the cargo on and off ships. My sister repairing nets while I’m here.”

He reached out and placed his hand on Togosh’s arm. “It will be over soon. I promise you that.”

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

~*~*~ **Daenerys** ~*~*~

 

Squirming into her chair, Daenerys felt the nerves in her stomach, something in the air she couldn’t quite put a name to, but it left her restless, wanting to fidget with unease. Instead, she folded her fingers in her lap and raised her chin, presenting the aura of confidence and composure. It was the last fight of the day, of her reign and she was eager to see it finished, to have men punished, men set free, Jon Snow back in her safety.

“I understand you had words with Grey Worm.”

Turning to her Hand, she raised an eyebrow at him, knowing the curiosity was burning within him as well as a dose of annoyance. “Yes.”

“Should I assume it has to do with the rescue of Jon Snow?”

Making a humming noise she turned back to the arena. “Isn’t it dangerous to assume anything? Speak plainly Lord Hand, I do tire of these games.”

Chastised, Tyrion’s frown gave away as much as his words. “I do hope you are proceeding with caution.”

Her own annoyance flared up. “I am not sure why you are so insistent on saving these men. They have defied my rule and they will answer for their insolence. That, Lord Tyrion, is all you need to know.”

Attention turning back to the two men walking onto the sand, she ignored the pout on her Hand’s face and the amusement and admiration from Jon’s advisor. Because Jon was there in front of her and she could feel the pull to him, the yearning coming from inside her, memories from the previous night flooding her.

He was looking up at her with a dark look, one she now understood was all heat and want. Her skin tingled, remembering his touch, how he looked tucked between her thighs. Exhaling sharply through her nose, she nodded at the men in front of her, permission for them to start.

Trying to regain her inner balance, she took a sip of wine, let it linger on her tongue while her pulse calmed. There was something about Jon Snow that crawled under her skin in a delicious frisson, creating the unfamiliar feeling of wanting to pursue and claim, keep him as hers.

Shifting in her seat, she raised her goblet to the crowd. “Let us see the end of this and serve justice.”

 

 

  

~*~*~*~*~

~*~*~ **Jon** ~*~*~

 

The shield was little more than a practice one, wooden and used, a farce in the face of what he was going up against. Testing its weight on his arm, he checked his maneuverability, faking a block, a careful eye on how his opponent wielded his weapon.

A war hammer was deadly in the correct hands. And the way this man moved it about, Jon felt his fight reflex come to attention, the edge of anger that lived within him, snarling its teeth in preparation to bite.

He could feel her eyes upon him, her careful stare holding weight as sweat ran down his back, into the furrows left behind from her nails, the reminder almost a distraction. Except, it wasn’t- it was adding flame to tinder, the half crazed fury to fight being encouraged by the desperate want of being by her side again. He could feel the energy pulling through him, rolling his wrist as he danced on his toes.

With a roar the man charged, hammer raised to crush. Jon rushed, muscles unwinding in quick snaps, a quick sidestep and then a slash. Sword deflecting the swing, a hollow sound as his shield hit on armor. They backed away from each other, Jon’s breathing still steady, grip still tight as they circled, waiting.

There was a heaviness to the air and Jon could taste the excitement of battle on the roof of his mouth. The man swung out quickly. He feinted. Ducked, the sound of the crowd in his ears. Blocked a swing aiming to cave in his chest. Stepped in with a slash. Blocked. Growling with the effort, he shoved off the man, pressing back in closely with a savage slice. The man twisted out of the way, bringing the hammer around. Jon danced sideways, knowing it wasn’t enough. The air left him as it glanced off his ribs, pain exploding down his side.

Stumbling, he hit the sand, gritty and heavy as he rolled out of the way, scrambling madly to regain his footing. Kicking out, he caught the man’s knee, giving himself an extra moment. Jaw clenched, he straightened, fury settling over him like a cloak. Those blows were meant to kill in a battle of sport. Anger driving him toward, he swung, hit the shield. Hacked again, the sun beating down on them.

They were locked in a deadly dance, the wolf inside rising up and scenting the air for fear. Ducking, stepping, slashing down. The man stumbling, regaining his footing. Jon’s muscles asking for reprieve as he spun, twirling out of the way. Jabbing straight out, the block vibrating up his arm.

The war hammer came at him in a downward stroke. He caught it with his shield, pain vibrating down his arm as the shield splintered, held. All his strength focused on keeping his shield up. With a push, he twisted free, ducking low. A knee in the sand. A cut with his sword. The man dropping as his leg was taken out. Jon tackled him, the black frenzy feeding into his rage, his shield breaking the man’s nose, borrowed steel falling to the ground,

There was a low buzz in his ears, drowning everything out, brown eyes staring up at him as he swung, the sapid feeling of cartilage crunching, blood spraying in an arch, a telling sign of each hit, the burn in his arms and knuckles, frustration being poured out onto the man’s face, the sharp sound of flesh dulling with swelling and carnage, the beast inside taking and taking and taking.

A loud shriek split the air, the sound of it reaching through the mania that had taken over, finding the bit of man still in there and he paused with a shudder of breath. The man below him was decimated, eyes swollen shut, blowing blood bubbles through his ruined nose. A shadow passed overhead, then another, wings beating in time with the rhythm of his heart.

Jon forced himself off the man, unable to look up where his companions sat just yet as he heaved for air, muscles quivering still, blood running to his wrists. He looked dumbly at the river of red, the splinter jutting out of his arm, vicious and angry and numb.

The arena was silent, people quiet in their shock, whether it be from him or the dragons he couldn’t be sure. Flexing stiff and aching fingers, knuckles split and oozing, he stood and turned, letting the Dragon Queen see him, really see who he was.

She did not shirk or shy, not that he had expected it, but still, it both soothed the wounded edge, stirred the blood in him that she could hold his gaze, approval written in her fine features.

“Jon Snow.”

He took a step forward, unable to resist her call, adrenaline still feeding his veins.

“You traveled a long way to have an audience with me. And you have suffered during your time here, an injustice that never should have happened.”

Everyone was listening to her now, her persona demanding the center of attention, bright and beautiful and commanding, standing there, flanked by her loyal Unsullied.

“And laws have been broken.” She paused, letting the weight of her words, the gravitas of the situation settle on the crowd. “Today, punishment will be delivered.”

There was movement from the corner of the arena, Jon’s captors being escorted out by more Unsullied, the men protesting as they were marched out to the center. Jon snarled as the men were brought closer, frustration building again where he had thought it had been expelled.

“Grazdan zo Galare and Oznak zo Pahl, you have taken this man, Jon Snow, against his will, held him away from his companions, coerced him into fighting here. You have taken him as a slave when slavery is no longer. Today, the punishment for those crimes will be issued.”

He almost went to his knee and professed his loyalty as a ripple went through their audience, a wave of murmurs and awe.

“My Lord.”

He looked up to see her gaze roaming over him, fiery and hot, full of want and whispered secrets of what would happen as soon as they were behind closed doors. He wanted to eat her whole, let her consume him from the inside out.

“Your sword.”

Noticing for the first time, her small hand was wrapped around the scabbard of Longclaw and offering it out to him, the wolf hilt still disguised. The fire within him roared, let loose in a wall of flames as he reached up to take it, fingers catching around hers, giving himself a moment to linger, to feed the lust inside of him before taking the sword.

Hooking a finger around the leather binding, he turned back to the struggling men, the once hated necessity now seen as a fitting end. Unwinding slowly, he uncovered the hilt, fingers gasping it with familiarity, a perfect fit.

The air seemed heavy as he strode forward, the men being forced to their knees, justice tasting both bitter and sweet in his mouth as he settled his feet in the sand, shifting his balance back and forth. He could feel his blood stirring, craving the violence, or at least the punishment, trapped anger of being held against his will, rising to the top and narrowing his vision.

“Let this be a lesson to all those who think to defy the laws.”

That commanding voice called out to the crowd, her form catching in the corner of his eye and he angled his chin to see her, to take in the fierce beauty as she stood, stern and unyielding. The greed for her built in his body, for the Queen strong enough to take the needed course of action, even if it was unpleasant.

Making himself turn back to his task, he focused on building the power it would take, muscles coiling with energy, listening to the mutterings of men who knew they would be dying in brief moments. He pulled Longclaw free of its scabbard, the familiar sound welcome, rousing. For a brief pause he could feel the cold of the Wall, see snow under his feet, feel the primal satisfaction of authority.

He shook his head clear and looked at Daenerys.

“Whenever you are ready Lord Snow.”

It took a powerful swing to separate a man’s head from his body. He took a deep breath and delivered it, feeling the sharp Valyrian blade cut through sinew and bone, felt the blood spray as the head dropped with a dull thump, the sand turning red beneath it.

The men behind him erupted in cheers, the next slaver starting to jerk and wriggle against his bonds. A sharp word from the Unsullied Captain had the man ceasing his struggles, the sounds of weeping now evident as Jon moved to the second man and positioned himself.

Jon steeled himself and raised his blade. Delivered a second sharp swing, blood glistening off Longclaw’s blade. Fastening his sword belt around his hips, he felt the relief wash over him as he walked away from the gruesome scene and towards salvation.

 

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

~*~*~ **Daenerys** ~*~*~

 

Daenerys was pacing.

It was nonsense, this jittery feeling that had settled over her, making her flushed and heated from the moment Jon Snow had walked out onto the sand. She was trying to convince herself to wait, maybe to not go at all, to let him settle in, let him and Ser Davos speak, to let him clean up and shed off the layers built up from the captivity and forced servitude he had endured, and let him rest before they sat down with their advisers in the morning.

But she wanted him.

So she walked away from her chambers, practicing an excuse in the form of a speech about gratitude as she made her way down the corridor, the growing need to be unraveled keeping her company, the path well lit, candles giving warmth to the passageway.

Without barely noticing her journey, Daenerys found herself standing outside Jon’s assigned chambers, the heavy door separating her from indulging in her growing lust. She hesitated, fingers curling into her palm as she weighed her options.

She knocked.

It was a polite alert before she let herself in, closing it behind her and turning the lock as she pressed her back to it. The movement of Ghost was caught from the corner of her eye, the great white wolf climbing to his feet in a greeting. But her gaze never strayed from the man in the center of the room, surprise evident on handsome features.

He was fresh from a bath, hair still wet and plastered to his neck, droplets of water being dried off his chest. Pulling in a mouthful of air, her carefully planned words scattered like they had been hit by a gust of wind, a heat coiling low in her belly.

“Your Grace?”

Tongue thick in her mouth, she took a step forward, delighting as his eyes darkened, tracked her movement. He had slipped into loose trousers still unlaced and sitting low on narrow hips, a dark trail of hair enticing her to get closer, to touch, to taste.

“I have come to make certain you are finding your chambers comfortable.” The lie fell easily from her lips, though she did not believe it to be convincing. They were both aware of the pull between them, how it had intensified from the last time he had been in her company, the memory of him being tight inside of her causing a blush high on her cheeks.

“Aye, they are. Thank you.”

He was holding his ground, waiting out her next move and she skittered forward, a hand trailing over the table at her side. It had been festering and boiling, her want for this man, the blood and violence surprisingly increasing it as she had watched him dominate his competition then deliver the merciless justice without batting an eye. Authority sat well on him.

“Upon the morrow we will be having a meeting with our advisors. I believe that we want this to work, my Lord, we just need to plan the best way for our alliance to happen.” She stopped at the end of the table, leaning into it as he finally moved towards her, stopping just out of her reach. A low pulse started between her legs.

“I am looking forward to it.”

The heat in his words caused a shiver in her body, her teeth catching the inside of her cheek to keep from making a sound. From her vantage point she could see his skin was still damp, a tempting offer that made her want to run her hands over his chest, follow with her tongue.

A wet nose at her hand made her jolt, the fixation on Jon Snow’s delectable flesh so intense she missed the direwolf coming to her side, impatient at being ignored by the two humans. A light chuckle left her throat, fingers threading through the white ruff. “Someone feels neglected.”

Fingers ran through the wet head of hair as he snorted in mirth. “His arse has been spoiled, sleeping in your bed every night.”

“You’d begrudge him a nice spot to sleep? Shame on you.” It was said with a quirk of her lips, not wanting him to mistake it for anything other than a jest and her heart gave a pleasant thump at the answering flash of teeth, his face lightening up with the humor.

“Aye, shame on me.” He stepped closer, the scent of bath oils mixing with the scent of Jon and invading her senses. There was a bloom of color over his chest where he had taken the blow, a wince as he shifted and her fingers stretched forward without thought, needing to touch him, tracing the pattern of mottled blue and black. There was a hiss from between his teeth and she looked up, the deep brown of his eyes drowned in black.

“Sit, please.”

He complied, her pulse echoing in her ears, a buzz flooding her veins as he seated himself in the chair. Hovering, she pulled on his arm until he relinquished it to her, letting her examine the stitches decorating his upper arm, a noise of approval at the tidy row. His flesh was warm below her fingers, pulse starting to pound as she traced over the line of his shoulder, hearing his sharp intake of breath at her touch, her own breathing as shaky as her legs, fingers stalling in the hollow of his throat.

A hand circled her wrist, battered and used but working as he tugged her closer, laying her palm over his bruised ribs. She could lay her fingers in the grooves, the itch for more making her bite her lip as she petted gently, watching the flare of his nostrils, his eyes clouding with lust.

It felt softer somehow, despite the buzz of battle still around them and she was ready to give into her desire. She let her hands fall to her side grabbing up silken fabric, lifting the hem off the floor, drawing it slowly up to her knees, a teasing gesture, then higher as she shifted, straddling strong thighs and settling in his lap.

Groaning she slid into the heat of his body, rough hands finding the bared skin on her back to stroke. The fire boiled between them, his want mixing with her need, creating a heady potion that made her a bit lightheaded, his beard rough as she palmed his jaw, thumb flicking that plump mouth. Fingers tangled in the ends of her hair and pulled, tilting her chin and exposing her neck, his sharp wolf teeth setting into the offered flesh. Humming against an exploring mouth, her own hands wandered, learning ridges and bumps, relaxing down into him, while his hips ground up, the length of his cock caught between them in delicious torment.

A sharp nip at her chin caused a whimper, leaning back into his hands so she could angle herself to assault his mouth, the beckoning bottom lip caught, her tongue darting out to trace the shape of it. A growl vibrated against her lips, a hand leaving her back while the other kept her weight, sliding up her belly, up higher to palm a breast, narrowing in to squeeze. Her chest hitched, eyelashes fluttering as he swept his tongue into her mouth, slow and messy, leaving her a melted sensation writhing in his lap.

When he pulled away, she sucked in a breath, his wet mouth closing over her covered nipple, teeth worrying it through her dress and she cried out, arching towards him, needing more than the muted sensation. He pulled away, a dark stain on the airy white of her dress and they both went a little frantic trying to get the barrier of silk pulled off over her head.

Heaving with exertion, impatience, she was finally freed of the hindering fabric, skin heating as hands fondled and pinched, her mouth closing onto the side of his neck, worrying the skin between her teeth as he grunted in response.

There was a surge of wet at her core, Jon lifting her from where he sat and dropping her onto the bare table. She gave a little shriek, arching off the cold surface, but wasn’t able to go far, his body looming, a hand flat on her belly as he suckled harshly at the bared nipple, the tug on it reverberating to her cunt.

She locked him in tight with her legs behind his thighs, pulling him close, cock flushed red and ready and her breath quickened in remembrance of being invaded so thoroughly. But he had other plans, his wet hair leaving a trail of droplets as he moved lower, Daenerys not sure how they weren’t boiling with the heat of her skin.

A chair was scooted closer and then he pulled, sliding her towards him, helping her legs over his shoulders as she lay on the table, sprawled out like a feast, thighs twitching in anticipation. He was testing her, thumbs peeling her open, the sob catching in her throat as he growled praises from his vantage point.

Finally he gave in, mouth closing over her with a swipe of his tongue, sensation flooding through her, a hand holding her flat as she tried seeking more of his mouth, more of the delicious assault that was burning through her, needy and addicted as he sucked at her nub.

Hands threaded into his hair to hold him where she wanted, hips rising up as he filled her aching cunt with his fingers, nibbled on tender flesh, her toes curling into his back as sanity fled with his every lick. Greedily he was devouring her and she was letting him have it all, the build up inside of her coiling in her muscles until she snapped with a sob, his tongue never stopping as he pushed her through.

Her tight grip in black curls loosened, petting the damp head in appreciation as he nuzzled the inside of her thigh, the demanding lover gentled and waiting for her recovery. She came back to herself with little gasps, legs losing their rigidity as he sat back in the chair.

Struggling she sat up, the yearning still sharp even as she was sated, the look of him flushed and messy making her want more. She slid forward, turning back into the seductive temptress as his hands met her legs, helping her off the table. Her hand pushed on his chest when he went to rise, holding him captive in the chair, determined to have her way with him.

The taste of her was in his mouth as she parted his lips and devoured, his hands grabbing desperately at her back, their kiss spiraling into a dirty clash as she wrapped her hand around him, weighty and hot, his groan reverberating into her mouth. Pulling away to concentrate, she pushed her forehead into his, her hair falling around them, a silver curtain hiding them as she climbed further onto him and raised herself up.

With her tongue held between her teeth, she sunk down onto his cock, slick and ready, fingers wrapped up in the curls at the base of his neck to balance herself as she whimpered with the invasion, the heavy drag of his length splitting her open until she came to rest.

They were both heaving for air, the pitch black of his eyes holding her captive as she shifted and wriggled, adjusting, opening herself up more until there was nowhere else to go. She was full, the delicious feeling of being overwhelmed as she bit at his lips in retaliation, toes grabbing the rungs of the chair for purchase as she rocked her hips, the strong thighs under her bunching with unleashed power. She found her rhythm, harsh and aggressive as she bounced, feeling every movement deep within, hands holding her steady by the hips.

He was snarling like a wolf beneath her, a little frantic, a little mad, a reflection of how she felt, wild and untamable, sparks running along her limbs, gathering in the knot in her belly, in the slight ache in her womb. Fingers were grabbing at her now, handfuls of her arse to help give her more with friction, grinding up as she came down, eyes wild and hot as they stared at her, demanding more and giving everything as she battered herself on him.

The pressure was too much, the heat from his gaze melting her, the ball inside of her dissolving roughly and she cried out, teeth set in his neck to muffle the sound as she convulsed and shuddered, Jon helping move her through it. Finally spent, she inhaled the scent at his neck, collapsed and useless, her heart pounding wildly.

Fingers tugging in her hair brought her out of the daze and she sat up, shivering, cunt clamping down around his cock as he nuzzled at her chest, reviving her slowly. She moaned as he shifted, cock stirring sensitive flesh, his wolfish smile making her close her eyes. The soft scratch of his beard was around her mouth, lips taken and she opened with a sigh, welcoming his attentions and the slick slide of his tongue.

Rough hands were rocking her, encouraging and she rolled her hips, savoring the whimper made against her mouth. Suddenly he was moving beneath her, shifted up, legs locking around his waist as he laid her back out on the flat surface, caught between the hardwood and his unyielding body.

She welcomed it, hips eagerly tilting to meet the rough thrusts given leverage by his grip on the edge of the table, his savage sounds echoing in her ear as he unraveled himself inside of her. She was inundated with sensations, an arm hooking her leg, opening her up, letting him in deeper with each bruising thrust, nails anchoring into his flesh until he finally stuttered, slamming into her once, twice, groaning and shuddering with the spill of his release.

He collapsed against her, spend and heavy, still tangled together and she relaxed into the sensation, his loose hair tickling her neck. Now that her mind was clearing, the mass of confusion was settling around her, the emotions swirling about, the easiness of coming together with him alongside the fierceness she felt, the urge to have him as hers.

“Here we are again.” His voice was well used and husky, making her toes curl into his skin as he raised his head and looked down at her.

There was a sudden panic in her veins at his soft look, his thumb sweeping over her brow. She wanted to lean into the caress, soak up the tenderness. It was terrifying and shocking, a craving she didn’t know she had. Keeping her tone easy, she pushed his hair out of his eyes. “Whatever are we going to do about this?”

“Sleep for now.” With a shift of weight he was up, sliding out of her with a wince, gathering her loose limbs to him and she curled around him like a snake, aware that she should be headed to her own chambers but content to let Jon place them on the bed. Ghost jumped up at the foot, her laugh drowning out his curse and she pressed herself to him, the exhaustion settle over her and flooding her limbs in lethargy.

For tonight she’d allow herself the luxury of being wrapped up with him. Tomorrow might bring something else.

 

 

  

~*~*~*~*~

~*~*~ **Jon** ~*~*~

 

Heat was surrounding him, absorbing into his flesh and seeping into the very marrow of him as he blinked himself awake. The sun was just beginning to rise, warm rays starting to flood his chambers. A silver strand of hair was tickling his nose, Daenerys pressed firmly into his chest, his nose at the nape of her neck where he could take in a deep breath of her scent.

She smelled of fancy oils and sex, the scent of him mixed with the scent of her.

A low groan rumbled in his chest, his cock stirring awake against the soft ample flesh of her arse. They shouldn’t have fallen into bed together again, so quickly and furiously, instead had a meeting with their advisers, spoken of the alliance he seeked. He nosed at the back of her neck in pleasant distraction, swimming in how good it felt with her against him, the bitter anger finally subsiding with the balm of soft skin.

Sweeping her hair back from her face, he studied her profile, the dark lashes spread across pale cheeks, the plump giving mouth. A guilt built inside of him, the burn of omission offsetting his bliss and he longed to forget it again, just feel the warm glow that blanketed him in her presence.

Unable to resist any longer, he placed his mouth where her shoulder and neck met, gave a testing nip. She made a low noise and rolled her hips against him. With a flex of his hand, he scooped up a breast, gave a gentle squeeze. The sharp intake of air informed him she was awake and he pressed a kiss to her shoulder, thumb flicking roughly over the peaked nipple.

A small hand came up to clutch at his hair, tug sharply until he bit the back of her neck in retaliation, making her sag into him, conquered and willing as he smoothed a rough hand over soft skin, a steady path to the blazing heat between her legs.

He was lightheaded and needy as he found the residing mess of them still between her thighs, a fresh wave of arousal coating his fingers as he fondled her swollen cunt with a heady urge to bury his face between her legs and consume her in big wolfish bites. The taste of her was still between his teeth, savory and addicting, even more so at the thought of how she shook apart around him.

But she was impatient, wriggling against him in a way he was helpless to resist and he pushed her leg out of the way, while she turned her head, pulling him down for a sloppy kiss. Greedily he took himself in hand and shifted, seeking the heat of her core, letting her mewl against his lips as he bumped through wet folds before he pushed into her, a low groan offset with teeth as her cunt resisted, strangling tight. She whimpered into the recess of his mouth, pushing her hips back and he steadied them both with a firm hand low against her belly.

He couldn’t think like this, her body igniting under his assault, her nails scoring into the flesh of his arse. Everything he wasn’t telling her, everything that awaited them across the sea disappearing as his cock was eagerly swallowed by her pink flesh, walls fighting to keep him locked inside.

The Queen of Meereen, the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, was plaint against him, hooking her leg over his to open herself up to him, encouraging him with low throaty moans, pushing back against his thrusts. He wanted to give a slow thorough worship to her body, he wanted to roll her to her front and fuck her in the most animalistic of ways. They didn’t know each well enough to do either, so instead he spoke muted praises to the line of her neck, roughly handled her sensitive flesh, let her turn to molten liquid around his cock.

A heavy breath caught in his throat, her cunt tightening down, making his vision blur as he rocked into her, a storm sounding in his ears, his finger and thumb pinching a rigid nipple. She was vocal now, a steady stream of noise as she caught his hand, pushing it to where they were joined. Another coil wrapped tighter around his spine as he found her nub, gave it a practiced swirl.

She roared to life against him, bucking in his embrace and he pushed the heel of his hand hard against her, pinning her to his front, his pace gathering rapidly, fingers working her over as his ears filled with the deep frantic sound of his heartbeat. She keened high and sharp, hand clamping around his wrist as she shuddered and jerked with her release, walls clamping around his cock without mercy.

It pulled him under, wave after wave filling her up as his vision exploded into bright colors, pounding his seed within her quivering cunt. He twitched and convulsed, forgetting how to breathe for a moment as sensation and pleasure washed over him, again and again.

Finally he was spent, boneless, sweat dripping down his chest where he was molded to her. Daenerys’ breathing was ragged, her fingers finally relinquishing the hold on his hair, neck arching as she tried to look at him.

Nosing silver strands out of his face, he removed his hand from between her legs, where his seed dripped out from around his cock, fingers wet with them and caught her chin, angling her better to meet him. She groaned with the first swipe of his tongue, sucking at it in a filthy manner that had him gasping and under her spell.

Parting from her swollen and bruised lips, he felt brazen and bold, tapping sticky fingers against the pretty mouth. Keeping his eye, she caught them with her teeth, tongue winding around them and he whimpered, spent cock starting to twitch back to life.

He was just delivering a long lick up her neck when a knock on his door made them both jolt, interrupting his want to roll her to her back and bend her in half.

“My Lord. Your Grace?”

Missandei’s voice was muffled through the door and the sound of disappointment that came from Daenerys’ throat made his blood heat up and settled somewhere in the pit of his stomach.

“I will be along shortly, Missandei. Inform Ser Davos and Lord Tyrion that we will be gathering for a meeting after we break our fast.”

With one last kiss to his fingers, she let go, shuffling around until she was facing him, blue eyes shining and lusty. “It seems I have found myself in your bed, Jon Snow.”

“Aye.” His heart made a dangerously welcomed thump at the sight of her, messy and sated, a wicked smile curling her lips. “A welcome find indeed.”

With a hum, she closed the distance between them and his eyes fluttered closed, a hand closing possessively over her arse as she nipped at his bottom lip before accosting his mouth.

He was wrapped up in her spell, the magic building again, clouding his mind until the noises of the city waking up filtered in through the open windows. Out of breath he pushed his forehead to hers. “We best be on our way to meet the others for our meal.”

She sat up in an easy movement, lovely round breasts bouncing with the effort and his mouth watered with want as he wondered if he could just ignore the plight of everyone in Westeros and stay in this bed, fucking her until the world ended.

“If you keep looking at me like that, I’ll never leave this bed.”

“Is that an offer, Your Grace?” He rolled up to meet her, threading his fingers into her hair, cupping the back of her head and giving her a long lingering kiss. “Because I would accept it.”

The unguarded smile she gave him warmed him from the inside, touching a place he long thought frozen. Then she gave a sly grin, arching over him, his cock again screaming for more, his mind fogging as he buried his face between her breasts. He grabbed with his teeth, hands settling along the slender frame of her ribcage, holding her steady as he latched on a pink tip, suckling until she squirmed.

With a gulp of air she pulled away, pushing hair out of her face, nipple wet and red from his attentions. She ducked his desperate grab and he almost whined, more than ready to sink into inviting flesh again. She shuffled sideways, his heart almost stopping as she nipped at his hip, jerking as she slipped her hand around his length and made a pleased humming sound.

He wasn’t going to make it back to Westeros, the Dragon Queen was going to kill him, to cause his heart to stop again, right here in this bed. And he was ready.

He was _not_ ready.

Daenerys opened her mouth wide and sucked him down in one steady motion. The noise that left him was strangled as pleasure exploded through him, praising gods he didn’t believe in for the magic of her mouth, that she would even offer such things to him.

He pried his eyelids back open, needing to see the lewd sight of his cock disappearing into her stretched mouth searing into his brain, any and all rational thoughts scattering as she slurped and worked at him, little noises vibrating against him as she sucked down.

His mind was sparking in and out, the heat almost too much to take, almost losing it all when her hand snaked between her legs. The groan echoed in his ears, reverberated around his sensitive flesh as she pleasured herself with his seed still dripping out of her cunt. The beast inside of him roared, demanding and needy as she brought him to ruin with every motion, the strain making him crack and splinter at the edges.

She pulled off of him as she came, her teeth buried into his thigh making him flinch and curse, eyes still stuck to her quaking form, the knowledge that she found release pleasuring _him,_ almost destroying him.

The blue of her eyes was barely visible against fat pupils when she uncoiled herself, heavy pants filling the air as she reposition herself, her wet fingers cupping his stones and bringing his cock back within reach. Then, without hesitation, she dove back down, swallowing as she went, the tightness of her throat, the wet heat of her mouth proving to much for him to take. He broke. A hand wrapping in her hair as his hips jerked, shattering apart to fill her mouth, eyes rolling back in his head.

Collapsing back to the bed when she swallowed his release, he sucked in a big breath, fingers still tangled in long silver strands but as useless as the rest of his spent body, pulse thudding in response. He was still too dumb to do anything but concentrate on breathing, eyes stuck on the spent Queen, heartbeat loud and demanding as she gathered herself back up to crawl halfway onto his chest.

He winced with her sharp elbow glancing off his bruised ribs, settled her a bit higher and then tucked the silver hair behind her ear. She looked feline and poised, surveying her territory from her perch. The need to find the words to express his foolish gratitude was pushing against his chest with every hard thump of his heart. “That was…..”

“Have you never received that type of pleasure before?”

He was going to fucking die looking at her with her lips still shiny and swollen, loose hair hanging around her face. He cleared his throat, then again trying to get his voice to work. “No.”

The answering grin was pleased, more pleased then it had a right to be. “That surprises me. I thought surely you had, since you have used your mouth on me.” Her voice went a little husky, an arrow into his brain. “And _that_ is very pleasurable indeed.”

Air was coming out of him in little pants, a part of him trying to figure out if his cock would work again so soon, the other part trying to crawl through the lusty haze surrounding him. Finally, she relented, a soft kiss to his mouth, then slid out of his bed on unsteady legs, his male pride fed by the look of her utterly ravished.

“I’m sure they are waiting on us by now.” He made himself crawl out of bed, hunting around for discarded trousers.

“I am a Queen, Jon Snow. They can wait.”

He found her staring at him with an appetite that made him swallow hard, body tingling in awareness. “You are making it difficult to remember my responsibilities.”

Dipping a cloth into the basin of water, she scrubbed it over herself, the red rash from his beard standing out against the pale of her skin. He turned, suddenly blushing at a naked Daenerys washing herself in his room. Running a hand through his hair he tried to untangle the knot of emotion in him, the confusion of what to tell her, the battle to keep it all hidden and not ruin anything, filling him with an anxiety he wasn’t sure how long he could withstand.

“Our responsibilities will not go away if we steal time to ourselves now and again.” She crossed back to him, focused and determined and still very much naked, leaning into his chest. “Unless you find that my company bores you?”

It was a tease, he knew that but still could not resist pulling her up into him, soft curves fitting right into his body. “No.” He managed to rasp out, the hidden fear that this would all be disappearing with the announcement of his parentage. “Gods fuckin’ no.”

“Good.”

 

  

~*~*~*~*~

 

Davos and Tyrion were waiting in her council room when they finally managed to sneak out of his room. Daenerys had made way for her own chambers, the need for fresh clothing a must. He cleaned himself off the best he could, reluctantly wiping the scent of her from his skin, hoping to keep it hidden from their crafty advisors for just a bit longer.

He didn’t need that added on to his already monumental inner turmoil.

When he sat down at the table though, he was certain every action between him and Daenerys was as plain as parchment, his fingers twitching with impatience, nerves. He had been Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch and he now was as jittery as a green boy being scolded.

“Finally, all of us together. It’s good to see you Jon.”

Tyrion’s smile was genuine and he couldn’t help but return it. “One day, My Lord, you’ll have to tell me how you ended up here.”

“It’s rather long and full of misdeeds, as I’m sure you can imagine. Now, to move things along, let’s discuss what brought you here before all this misfortune befell you. Ser Davos and I have been discussing this potential alliance at length.” Tyrion’s eye flickered over him and then Daenerys. “As I image you two have been doing.”

It cost him every bit of strength to not shift in his seat as he thought of what they had been doing. He dared not look at the Queen to see if she fared better.

“And, what has my clever Hand come up with?” Daenerys’ voice was steady giving nothing away.

“We don’t believe it will be enough for Jon to just bend the knee.” Ser Davos slipped seamlessly into the conversation, alluding that this must have been previously plotted by him and Tyrion. “The Northern lot is stubborn and hardheaded. It’s a lot to ask them to accept Jon as King and then learn he turned around and gave the North to you, Your Grace.”

“So what are you implying, Ser Davos? That your trip was for naught? That you don’t need my help?”

“We need your help.” Jon turned to her, silently pleading that she understand how dire the situation was. “I don’t know what scheme these two have been plotting while I was being held as a fighter,” he sucked in a breath, “but, I assure you, Your Grace, I need your help.”

“We do, Your Grace. Our discussions have led us to the exact same place every time.” Ser Davos nodded his agreement.

“I am unaware as to what location our advisers have arrived at, but let me speak plainly. I need your help in getting the North back. It will be essential for our fight with the army of the dead. I know you are not convinced of this, but they are real, it is coming.” Jon shot Davos a look, annoyance growing at the game he and Tyrion seemed to be playing. This was no time for that, the heavy impact of his actions weighing him down. This is something he should have discussed with Daenerys already, should have put want and lust to the side until an alliance had been met.

“And after all that, then I have your support for the Iron Throne?” She was staring at him in a way that made him feel flayed open, as if she could see every scar and blemish, every half truth and misdeed. He wanted to hand it all over to her, let her do what she wished with it.

“Aye.”

“It’s a wonderful thing, that it seems so easy.” Tyrion tapped on the table. “But there is the problem of Westeros, of the North accepting it. My suggestion is we send ravens out to the Northern Houses informing them of Robb Stark’s decree. Let them know Jon Snow is the King in the North and plans on taking it back.”

Jon could feel the ache brewing in his temples. Hadn’t they just agreed on this?

“And then we will send another message.” Tyrion smiled, a sly grin that had Jon’s chest tightening in anticipation. “ A marriage alliance that still keeps the North from under the thumb of a Southern Ruler.”

A sudden realization of where this conversation was going robbed him of his breath, a pounding in his ears, the flood of emotions threatening to drown him in his chair.

“That the King in the North is to wed the Mother of Dragons.”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaos- Dog
> 
> I borrowed a few names from the books and bent them for my needs.. who knew making up names was so damn difficult.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A marriage alliance is discussed. Jon considers telling Daenerys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My life has been utter pandemonium for the last few months. Thank you all for waiting while I try and sort it out. 
> 
> This chapter was originally combined with the next, but it lost some impact in that form. I hope you enjoy the chaos I’m about to create.
> 
> Thank you to justwanderingneverlost who gave me some moodboard magic. This chapter was in dire need. Love you, JW ❤️
> 
> jalen_mara who is always willing to read what I write, encourage my shenanigans and lends her amazing talent for beta’ing the mess of a chapter I always send her. And for also replying enthusiastically to my devious plan of ending this chapter where I did. My friend, my love for you is endless ❤️
> 
> And thank you and all my love to the rest of my friends that I’ve made in this fandom. You encourage, you enable and sometimes that’s all I need.

~*~*~*~

_“That the King in the North is to wed the Mother of Dragons”_

Tyrion’s words stunned him, making him mute, frozen to the spot, the possibility of it crawling through him, a warm hope that he dared not think too closely on. _Gods, could he really have it, be so lucky?_ An icy wave crashed over him, his _secret_ as cruel as a slap to the face. 

Looking up he found himself being watched, Davos and Tyrion with some humor, Daenerys peering closely, something he could not name flashing across her face before she veiled it, the imposing Queen being set back into place. It threw him even further off balance, the taunts of being as bastard ringing in his ears, the lessons long learned and living inside of him.

“This is what you two have been plotting?” A sharp rap of fingernails sounded across the table, Daenerys looking intently at her Hand who had the sense to look slightly abashed at her tone.

“Yes.” Tyrion gathered himself and look back up. “You have the Greyjoy fleet and most likely Dorne. If you align yourself through marriage to the North, then you’ve already won half the battle, Your Grace.”

It rattled around in his chest, the thought of marriage for lands and houses, though he knew that is how they mostly started. Very few marriages for love— no it was always about lands and power and wealth.

He wasn’t in love with Daenerys Targaryen, not yet. But it felt inevitable, his feelings already so strong he was willing to sacrifice some of his honor to stay at her side, let the unexplainable pull he felt towards her grow, until it had fully bloomed.

He wondered if it was the Targaryen side of him.

There was still a look on her face, a slight shadow in her eyes that nobody else seemed to notice, his own heart pounding in his ears at the thought that she may not want him as he wanted her, that she had no need for him outside her bed.

“May I have a moment with you, Your Grace? Without our advisors.”

She nodded her consent, ignoring Tyrion’s look of disapproval and he felt himself draw an easier breath, Davos giving him an encouraging pat to his shoulder as he left. Ghost let out a noise as he flopped to his side, wet nose nudging Jon’s ankle.

Silence filled the room when it was finally the two of them, a silence that stretched endlessly between them, though she was within an arm's reach. He shifted uneasily in his chair, given away by the squeak of wood, searching for the right words to give her. 

“I cannot give you heirs, so I understand if you decline?”

He was shocked by her voice, cold and defensive, her face matching her tone as he looked up in surprise, her words slowly seeping into his mind for him to grasp the meaning of. “Decline?” 

“Marriage to me.” There was a defiant lift to her chin, as if she was offended at the thought of him being opposed to being joined with her.

There was a dull thud in his chest, a gaping hole again, the wound sharp as he realized the giant misunderstanding that was sitting between them. Somewhere in the back of his mind was the thought of children, how could there not be— though he had ignored it for the first time in his life to take what selfish pleasures he could find. 

“That’s not it.” Inwardly he cursed, flooded with shame. They had spoken little, caught up in the heat of their passion instead. He didn’t regret the physicality, only that his lack of words now had them sitting awkwardly with each other, with much to say. He paused for a moment, trying to grasp the words that would soothe his blunder. “Marriage to you…” he trailed off, wanting to stand and pace, wanting to drag her back into his chambers and lay her back out across his bed, _show her_ how much he wanted her. “I was a man of the Night’s Watch, we swore to take no wives, father no children. Even before that I was just Jon Snow, Ned Stark’s bastard son with not even a family name to offer her. Who would want that?”

She was eyeing him carefully, the detached look gone from her face, replaced with the softness of awareness and he sucked in a breath, realizing that he’d been holding it, frozen to the spot after his outburst of words.

“You are a man who cares enough to cross the Narrow Sea in search of help to save the people you have no obligation to. You are the man who saved his friends by trading himself into a life of servitude and then did not surrender once there. Any woman willing to overlook your actions for the circumstances of your birth is a fool.”

“You flatter me.” There was a heat in his face and at the back of his neck, created by her words. They barely knew each other and to hear her speak so highly of him had his blood buzzing with an unfamiliar feeling.

“One thing I do not do, is flatter, My Lord.”

“Jon.” Nerves were settling in the pit of his stomach. The mutual pleasure they were exploring was one thing, the giving voice to growing admiration was another, something he was not used to navigating. “I believe we are familiar enough with each other that calling me by my name shall suffice.”

Her growing smile caught inside of him, spreading and expanding until it caught on his hidden truth, jerking it to a halt. He faltered a moment, a small waiver that she caught, dimming her eyes as he shoved it down, the need reassure her greater than the burning omittance sitting inside of him. “No children would not dissuade me, Your Grace.”

“Daenerys.” She reached across the table, a dainty hand touching his and he turned his palm up, old burn scars on display as she traced them lightly before locking her fingers around his wrist. 

“Daenerys.” He savored the taste of her name in his mouth, let it roll across his tongue, seeing the flare in her eyes. The heat between them was distracting, the primal urge to fill her full of him skating under his skin. But conversation was needed— the untangling of stories, of expectations. They couldn’t spend the rest of their lives indulging in carnal pleasures, no matter how wonderful that thought was. “I never expected to have any children, I don’t expect it. Being married to you would be enough. More than anything I would have ever thought of.”

“Jon.” His name was said on an exhale, long lashes squeezing shut, the glistening of silver tears gathering. “Are you certain you mean that? I’ve been forced into marriage and I don’t want any resentment to live between us.”

His chest ached, her open honesty making his guilt almost suffocating, weighing him down. But despite her best intentions to remain impassive, there was hope in her eyes, a hesitancy that spoke of feared rejection residing behind the hope, an echo of his own fears. He was weak, unable to bring himself to ruin it with his own burden.

“I am certain.” He wrapped his own fingers around her delicate wrist with the sudden, stunning realization that he would have been thrilled to get her with child, possessively branding her as his own. He let go of that brief want, let it float away, focusing on the mayhem and destruction they would be facing. “This seems a better choice than oaths to the Night’s Watch.”

There was a chuff of amusement at his bad joke, her expression lightening up as she leaned in closer, his heart tripping as her head tipped in. “I certainly hope so.”

“Certainly prettier. And you smell better.”

Her laugh was infectious, not some polite noise learned from a Lady or a Septa, but a genuine laugh that brought forth his own smile. Gods, it would be easy to forget about White Walkers and death, sitting across from her every day.

“I believe my feelings would be hurt if you said otherwise.” With a tilt of her head, she smoothed down her face, turning back into the Queen right before his eyes, a feat he deemed impressive. “Well then, Jon Snow, it seems we will need for our council to send out those ravens, prepare Westeros for what is to come.”

“Aye.” Words left him, lost to the image of being joined with her, oaths and promises to be kept, not broken, spending whatever time he had left at her side, foolishly hoping that they would make it out alive. He let out a breath.

“We should advise our council.” She made no move to call them back in. “There is much to be arranged. Within a sennight we will board the ships and sail for Westeros.” There was a far-away look in her eyes as if she was imagining what Westeros would be like. She focused on him again. “Are you prepared to go back?”

“No.” He blew out a breath and ruffled Ghost’s ears with his free hand, the bored wolf having sat up and pushing his large head into his lap. “But that won't stop me from doing what I need to.”

“No, I don’t suppose it would.”

The words were barely more than a whisper, something he almost missed. He scooted to the edge of his chair, the need to be closer almost impossible to ignore, a question lodged in his chest. “Are you prepared for what awaits you?”

There was a hesitation, her face losing any softness, tension drawing her shoulders back. “Yes.”

It was not arrogance he heard in her voice, but confidence— the determination of a woman who had spent a lifetime learning the cruel truths of the world and was still fighting her way to the top. 

He could do nothing but admire that fire that resided within her.

But still.

Reaching out, he caught a wayward strand of silver, letting it wrap around his finger for a brief moment, seeing the same flash of heat that he felt reflected in the blue of her eyes, then tucked it behind her ear. “I need to know, Your Grace— Daenerys, that you are fully committed to this war. Not just the war for the Iron Throne, but the Great War. Once we set sail, there is no turning back. I need to know you believe and understand what I’m asking you to do.”

It was forward of him, he knew, demanding an answer a question like that, but the situation called for it. He could not avoid the hard questions, the uncomfortable truths. There were lives at risk, everyone's— his, hers, the unsuspecting people of Westeros, her armies. So he had to ask, holding his breath while he awaited her answer.

“I would like to tell you yes with full confidence, Jon.” Despite the steady noise around them, he could hear the silence within her, feel the stillness surrounding her as she paused, her plump bottom lip held between her teeth as she considered her words. “But it’s a hard thing to imagine.” She placed a hand over his forearm, the heat seeping into his skin. “I don’t think you are speaking false, I don’t not believe you. I want you to know that.”

The sincerity, the earnesty in her voice gave him hope even as her words filled him with trepidation, frustration. “Why is it so difficult to believe?”

There was a tilt to her head, the daylight catching the moonlight of her hair and he felt the urge to grab her and hold her close, keep her in this land filled with sun and sand.

“If you had never seen them, would you think something like it possible?”

Huffing in acknowledgement, he gave himself a moment to think back to a time before he knew of White Walkers, before his ideas of the Night’s Watch had been dashed and broken, back to when all he knew was being Ned Stark’s bastard son. He hardly remembered that boy.

The soft touch of her fingers along his arm pulled him out of his tangled reflections. Eyes the color of the sea stared at him, into him, trying to see to the root of his troubled thoughts. “Jon?”

“How exactly did your dragons come to be?” It was softly asked, her face twisting with it and he caught her elbow, rubbing his thumb along the smooth skin, a reassurance that he was right here with her. He’d heard bits and pieces of it, she was the Unburnt after all, but he needed to hear it from her.

“I lost my son and my husband to a witch who tricked me.” Her face might have been impassive, but there was a hitch in her chest that told otherwise. “I put my dragon eggs into his funeral pyre because I knew what must be done. The witch died in the same flames I walked into.”

Magic. Unbelievable. Something he’d scoff at and call false before, but now all was possible. “And walked out of.”

“Yes.” Her chin tilted up, her face as commanding as it was captivating. “When the flames died down I was still there.”

He wanted to push, ask more questions, but none would be able to convince her of the Army of the Dead if she had brought dragons back into this world and was still skeptical. Instead, he offered her something else, something he hoped to never speak of again.

“You’ve seen my scars.” It was not a question, but she nodded anyway and he could see the curiosity light up in her eyes, the hesitation, knowing it must be a terrible story. Her small smile helped push him on, helped ease his urge to touch all the gruesome marks that adorned his flesh. 

“They called me out to the yard.” His chest tightened and he could feel the sting of cold, the frigid bite of the air at the Wall. “Told me there was news of my Uncle.” How naive he had been, rushing out when he knew there was bad blood, foolish in thinking the title of Lord Commander would be enough to save him.

The pulse in her throat was jumping and he felt the urge to put his thumb on it, feel the life in her beating, reminding them both they were still alive.

“Instead I was met with knives, by my men, one by one.” He pointed on turn to where each scar was hidden by his tunic, caught fully in the moment of shock, feeling each piece of steel slide into him again and again.

A small hand caught his, the feeling of her skin pulling him from the horror, his fingers held tightly over his heart. “I died.” Gods it hurt to say, tearing from his throat, ripping another wound anew. “I was dead, murdered at their hands.”

“Dead?” There was a quiver in her voice. Gone was the Queen, and instead, in front of him stood the woman that he’d spent the night wrapped around, giving and generous.

“Aye.” Squeezing his eyes closed, he gathered himself a moment, putting the pieces that felt pulled out of him back together. “The red witch, Melisandre, brought me back.”

The silence stretched on, Jon out of words now, feeling shaky and vulnerable, more exposed than if he’d been standing there without a stitch of clothing. Noise filtered back in, breaking apart their seclusion, reminding them both that their advisors awaited, and preparations needed to be made.

“Was justice met, Jon Snow?”

He cleared his throat. “By my hand.” 

“Good.” The fire was back in her voice, steel running down her spine. “This mutiny involved you letting the Freefolk through? Ser Davos mentioned it.” He nodded and she squeezed his fingers. “One day, I’d like to hear the whole story, if you are able to tell me.”

Tension released from his jaw, shoulders relaxing even if the thought of telling it all caused a nervous roll of his stomach. It would be best, and would help them understand each other, learn what to except for the wars to come. “I will.”

“Jon.” She tugged at his hand. “I don’t understand yet what we are facing, but I believe you.”

He wanted to kiss her in relief, but instead gave her a heartfelt smile, hoping it could convey all of the relief and hope inside of him. “I can accept that.”

“Good.” Her face was bright again, lips upturned, the beat of his heart kicking up a notch.” Well then, Jon Snow, what other matters do we need to discuss before our upcoming nuptials?”

Huffing out a small laugh, he let his thumb rub a circle on her skin. “Strategy, Your Grace. I have some experience in the area.”

“Very well.” Her tone was almost a purr, a seductive noise that made his stomach clench in appreciation. “Tell me then.”

“I have someone looking for the weapons we need for the war against the White Walkers. I know you want the Iron Throne, so we will need to regain the North first, take back Winterfell, establish that we will be under your reign.” He paused, trying to see it all in his head. “I don’t know how much time we have, and we will need everyone we can get. The Freefolk will fight with us.”

“Is that enough?” 

“I don’t know.” And, gods, he didn’t. All of Westeros might not be enough. “We need Tyrion to come up with a plan. He and Davos know King’s Landing, and we need them to figure out how to remove Cersei or convince her to join the fight.” At the sudden pinch of her features, he stood, pulling her to her feet, catching her by the elbows. “I know what you want, Daenerys, but if we don’t stop the Army of the Dead there will be no kingdom for you to rule.”

“Then we will come up with a plan.” Her hands grabbed his tunic, fisted in the fabric. “We will be prepared. I will not leave them to die.”

Unable to resist, he caught her chin, surprising the both of them with a gentle kiss to her soft mouth. “Then, I think we have an agreement.

Her face was soft as he let go of her, both moving back to their seats before she looked towards the door. “Lord Tyrion, Ser Davos.” 

Her brows raised as both of the councilors rushed back in, indicating that they hadn’t gone far. Jon looked down at where she still had her hand tucked into his before looking back up at the two men. “It seems we need to inform the Lords of Westeros that they have a new King in the North, and that our Houses will be joined by marriage.”

It was hard to say who looked more satisfied by the announcement, Davos or Tyrion, but Jon felt himself blush all the same. Tyrion tipped his head.

“Then we will start making preparations.”

 

*~*~*~

 

The Unsullied were more disciplined than any he had ever seen. Jon let his hands rest of the hilt of Longclaw as he watched them train, keeping their wits smart and movements fluid. Their chosen Commander stood beside him. Grey Worm, he had learned, as he studied one of the forces who would help keep Westeros alive.

He had to admit they were an impressive sight even if the story of their beginnings horrified him.

“How do we fight them? The enemy we will be facing?”

The low voice broke Jon out of his thoughts and he moved his thumb to the dragonglass dagger at his side, thankful that it had survived the shipwreck. “This will kill them.” He pulled it out of his sword belt, and handed it to Grey Worm. “Fire will kill them.”

“The dragons.” Tipping his head in acknowledgment to Jon, he gave a twirl to the blade. “They are dead?”

“Yes. I have a friend who is looking for more of this dragonglass. We need more in order to be prepared.” Gods, he hoped Sam found something quickly, the urge to rush simmering just under his calm demeanor.

“Will it be enough?” He handed back the dagger.

“I don’t know. We may all still die, we probably will all die, but we have to try.” His mind caught on all these people sailing for a new land, most of whom’s lives would end there. 

“ _Valar Morghulis.”_ ” He reached out and clapped Jon on the shoulder. “All men must die. Come. You wanted to see how we fight.”

Tucking the dragonglass back into his belt, Jon gave a small smile, enjoying the anticipation that was starting to build in his veins. He would have thought himself exhausted of fighting after the days spent in the arena, but his blood called for the chaos, even in a sparring session.

As Grey Worm turned toward him, spear at ready, Jon pulled Longclaw free, bouncing up to the balls of his feet. He thought after spending some time watching that he could defend against an attack, but the Unsullied’s spear twirled quickly, two blocks and suddenly, the tip was pointed at his neck.

“Again.” He backed up a step, setting himself up for a better defense.

The other man was light on his feet, quick as a snake, ducking his thrusts and strikes. They managed to circle each other, Jon barely missing a jab at his midsection, blocking another before finding himself lying flat on his back on the hard stone, looking up at the sun.

“Better.” Grey Worm was suddenly in his vision, amusement on his normally stoic face. 

“Not good enough.” Jon pushed himself back to his feet, giving a test swing. “Again.”

This time he was ready, watching the other man’s body betray his movements, both of them moving with ease. He feinted and blocked, gritting his teeth against the jarring push, moving quickly to keep his legs from being swept out from under him. He could see Grey Worm was putting in the same amount of effort, something that made him feel better as his lungs ached for air, his hair falling out of the tie that held it back.

Suddenly, the surrounding Unsullied snapped to attention, causing them both to pause at the disturbance. Jon looked to see Daenerys moving towards them, the bells in her hair giving away her steps, face less stern than normal, the men nodding and forming a line for her to walk through.

“Grey Worm, My Lord.”

Echoes of _Your Grace_ were uttered from both of them, Jon’s throat dry as he looked her over. His mind was reeling, slow and dumb at the sight of her dressed in her leather Dothraki garb, silver hair pulled back into one long braid, the lovely swell of her bosom showing, complete with the marks he had spent the last two nights putting there. 

Gods, he’d already spent himself twice that morning and already he wanted to take her back up to his chambers and consume her in big, greedy bites. He could feel himself flush, growing needy, and she was looking at him like she could read what was in his mind. He opened his mouth. “You’re going to need warmer clothing in the North.” 

Her eyebrows raised at him and he wanted to crawl away and hide, feeling the stares of her army. “Everyone.” He recovered, nodding towards the bared arms of those around him. “Otherwise the cold will kill you all before we’ve even begun to face our enemy.” 

“We are unprepared. Even my Lord Hand is not as informed as he should be, I believe.” His breath stuttered as she closed the distance between them, resting her hands on where he had sheathed Longclaw. “Perhaps you and your Ser Davos could make a list of the supplies we will need and we will acquire what we can here, before we sail.” 

She stepped back and he drew in a deep breath, hands curling at his sides to keep from reaching out and claiming her. “That can be done.” 

“After you and Grey Worm are finished, of course.” She offered him a smile and he felt it settle in his chest. “If you’ll excuse me.” 

He was shameless in watching her stride away, watching the view of her pert arse in the leather trousers as she climbed the steps and stopped at the top, waiting. He shifted on his feet, Grey Worm holding a hand up to stop him from pursuing her, and then he felt it in his bones, the air rattling around them. 

A dragon dropped to the ground in front of her, black scales glaring bright in the sun. She was fearless as she crawled up and settled onto the spiky back, Jon hearing an unknown word, and they were airborne, his heart in his throat as she took to the sky. 

}Tell me why you are following her across the sea.” He watched as her form grew smaller as she flew away, green and gold bursting into view before catching the larger dragon and flanking him. 

“She freed us, gave us a choice.” Grey Worm watched their Queen also. “We choose to remain at her side and help her free others, better their lives.” 

She was finally out of his sight and he turned away to look back at the legion of Unsullied. “It is a good reason.” 

__

~*~*~*~

The candles were burning low, giving away the late hour as Jon prowled down the long corridors, Ghost silently moving at his side. The Queen was still gone to wherever she and her dragons had flown, but nobody seemed overly concerned.

He gave himself a moment to think back to earlier, to relive the sight of her calling down her dragon, climbing onto the spiky back. He’d be a liar if he said it didn’t send a shudder through him, a flushed heat of lust settling round him, the erotic image of the Queen who rode dragons, riding him.

Rounding a corner close to his own chambers brought him face to face with Davos. Jon was pleased to see the familiar face, a niggling of guilt that he hadn’t properly sat with his advisor in all the chaos surrounding his release from chains. 

“I’d wondered if I’d see you before you were tucked away for the night.” There was a teasing to the older man’s tone as if he knew exactly what could possibly occupy Jon’s time well into the early morning hours. 

Instead of a dry retort that would no doubt confirm Davos’ suspicion, Jon skirted around him to open the heavy doors to his room. “I’m certain they’ve left us a jug of wine, so come in.” He didn’t mention it was the wine the Queen preferred, a small preparation made by the ever capable and clever Missandei.

They settled into their chairs, Jon trying desperately not to recall Daenerys straddling him in this very chair, or her spread out in all her silver glory across the table where their goblets now sat. He swallowed with difficulty.

“This voyage was not really what I expected when you announced you were sailing here.”

Jon snorted in humor as he picked up his wine. “Nor I.”

“But it seems it has turned out well. You’ll go back to Westeros with the support of the biggest army to set foot on that land, three dragons, and a Queen who will be your wife.”

Hearing it said out loud didn’t make it seem any less astonishing and he took a sip of wine, the flavor too sweet on his tongue, bursting into his mouth as he struggled to come to grips with everything that was happening. 

“You’re awfully quiet on the subject.” Davos was looking at him, gaze piercing, searching, and wanting Jon to unburden himself.

Giving a little wheeze as he set down his goblet, Jon thought back to the moment he had decided to set sail for Meereen. “I’m still trying to wrap my mind around it. It wasn’t that long ago I was Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.” His fingers curled with the tension of the events that transpired. “Then, there was nothing, and now...” He barked out a rough laugh.

“At least you and the Queen get on.” Pouring more wine into his cup, Davos kept his face smooth, but Jon could hear the humor in his tone.

“Aye.” He gave him a wry grin. “We get along just fine.”

“Can’t ask for more than that, lad. I’ve seen unions built on less.” Davos set his own wine goblet down and gave Jon a long, serious look, making him want to squirm in his seat, the scrutiny making him feel as if he was being weighed and measured. “We came up with this plan, but is it what you want, Jon?”

Brushing loose hair back from his face, he thought about heading back to a war they probably would not win, the guilt of dragging her into the conflict a bitterness he was learning to live with. Yet the selfish part of him enjoyed her close, even though they’d had only brief moments together, the pull of being with her almost drowning any other want or need.

“I can live with it.” When he noted the flippant remark doing nothing to relieve the seriousness of Davos’ expression, he sat back in his chair. “If we survive this war-“ he had never thought he would, had just hoped he wouldn’t turn into one of _them_ , but now he could feel the will to live rekindling in his bones, stirring in his chest. “then I will stand at her side Davos, and be pleased to do so.”

“I’m glad to hear of it.” Davos finished his wine, giving a careful look around the room, probably noting the food for two, the copper tub that had been stationed in the middle, ready to be filled at the Queen’s whim. Jon could not say why she preferred his chambers to hers, but he had no complaints. “The hour is late and I will find my own bed. Apparently there are more ravens to be sent in the morning.”

Jon stood with him, stepping over Ghost who was sprawled at his feet and walked his advisor to the door. The dark surrounded his chambers, the prickle of anticipation layering over his skin, knowing Daenerys should be returning with her dragons at any moment. He opened the door, pretended to be surprised at the Unsullied at his door, a small heat crawling up his neck at the thought of what the Queen’s guards heard at night.

“Goodnight, Ser Davos.”

He let out a breath when he shut himself back into his room, perfectly in time to hear the heavy sounds of wings, the dull thud of a dragon landing. His balcony was spacious enough to allow Drogon to balance precariously, his scaled tail hanging over the railing.

Forgetting that it might be dangerous, Jon ducked outside, the thrill of seeing her astride a dragon up close clouding his better judgment. He was met by sharp teeth, and a growl unlike anything he’d ever heard before, Daenerys’ eyes wide from her seat.

Almost everything inside of him screamed to retreat, take cover back inside the room and hope that Drogon didn’t decide to incinerate him. But, there was a part of him that craved to touch the hide, feel the heat, and with his heart pounding in his ears, he stood his ground as the giant snout came down, inhaling his scent— not unlike what Ghost would do with a stranger.

Concentrating to keep his hand from trembling, he reached out, feeling the rough hide beneath his fingers, caught up in disbelief as he stroked along the scales, the large eye going soft, and a low pleased rumble coming from the dragon’s throat.

He stood his ground, the fierce creature emitting a noise akin to a purr as Daenerys slid off in a flourish of grace, murmuring something he didn’t understand. Drogon apparently did, and Jon moved to the side as the dragon angled away from them, and with a force that nearly knocked him off his feet, took to the sky.

Before he could brace himself, his arms were full of a bright eyed woman, her mouth pressing hungrily to his. Mind spinning to keep up, he found himself pushed against a pillar, her hands grabbing greedily at his skin, while her tongue curled around his.

Before he could retaliate and rip the leather from her body, the sound of the door opening stopped their frantic grasping, pitchers of steaming water being carried in and dumped into the tub.

“Missandei must have seen Drogon’s arrival.” She bit his lip before untangling herself from around him and Jon almost whimpered at the loss of contact. “Come along Jon Snow, let us wash away the day before enjoying our dinner.”

He followed.

~*~*~*~

Heat was already building as the sun came up, the stream of light falling across the bed. Sweat was beading on his back, between his shoulders, his chest moving across hers in a slippery slide of skin.

She was giving long, drawn out moans in time with his steady thrusts, the greedy, hot grip of her cunt making him lose all his wits, stuck in the moment of just feeling. Nails were digging into his back as he slid an elbow under her thigh, caught her knee, bent it out of the way. A higher pitched sound escaped her throat, eyelids fluttering as he gave a twist to his hips, savoring the feeling as her walls pulsed around him.

Using his teeth, he nipped at her neck, the soft squelch of their coupling disturbing the air, a tightness working its way down his spine, coiling with urgency as she rolled her hips against him, wanton, needy, craving all that he could give her.

_“Tolī. Tepagon nyke tolī.”_

The breathy request ended with a clack of her teeth, his hips snapping forth and ending her words. Jon didn’t understand the language, but hearing it made him half mad, the feral side he wanted to keep shoved down bubbling to the surface. He caught her other leg, pushing it up, effectively trapping her, the heat consuming him as he did his best to fuck her through the bed with hard thrusts of his hips.

She was wild beneath him, struggling to take what he was giving, making him push harder, deeper, her walls strangling tight and threatening to keep him on the brink of blissful madness. A hitching breath broke from her chest, a shuddering sound, her body following with renewed wetness as she pulsed around around his cock. Biting his lip to keep from spilling just yet, he leaned his weight into her, not easing up, fighting through the grasping of her cunt until the pressure overtook him and his release rattled through him, spending himself as deeply inside of her warmth as he could.

Letting go of her legs, he crashed into her chest, an undignified heap, slack and worn, mind numb with the residue of pleasure. He could feel her ribcage expanding, her heart slowing its rapid pace as her fingers skirted down his spine making him want to purr and arch into her hand like a cat.

“The loss of waking up like this every mornin’ might be the worst thing I can think of once we go to war.” His words were half slurred, head still foggy, the thoughts of how fucking cold it was going to be making him want to burrow back into her.

Her chuckle reverberated under his ear, delicate fingers tugging with strength in his hair and he lifted his chin, feeling his heart swell with affection as she caught him in a kiss, her ravaged lips yielding and soft against his own. 

“I do expect you to be in my bed, Jon Snow. Westeros is not enough of an excuse to explain the absence.”

As much as he liked seeing her in thin flimsy gowns, all manners of flesh exposed for his sampling, the thought of being buried under heaps of furs did have an appeal. “I would be a fool to stay out of your bed.” He rolled off of her with a wince.

A please sound rumbled from her throat, slender fingers playing over his chest as she rolled to her side, delightfully flushed and rumpled. “I knew there would probably be a need for me to marry in Westeros, some Lord to strengthen my claim.” Her hand brushed over the scar covering his heart before she sat up. “It seems instead he found me. A man determined to do what is necessary for his people.” 

The flash of pale skin caught his eye as she stretched, his eyes fluttering open to see the line of her back roll in front of him, and even with his seed still dripping out of her, he felt the urge to roll her back over and fill her again. 

“I do believe this marriage will be an enjoyable one.” She turned towards him, smile light and easy, and he felt it catch in his chest, clog up his throat, panic curling his fingers.

He couldn’t do it any longer.

“Daenerys.” His hand moved towards her before falling to the bed, the weight of his truth trying to hold him down as he struggled to sit up. The tone of his voice pulled the smile from her face, and in the moment he almost swallowed it back down, terrified how she would look at him when he was done. “I need to tell you something.”

Nerves pushed him to his feet, the thin sheet wrapping around his waist as he couldn’t tell her while he was naked. No, he was going to hand her every bit of himself, he needed to keep from being fully exposed.

“Then tell me.” There was a wariness to her voice, having caught his distress, this Queen who had been through so much. He ground his teeth together, gathering his strength.

“Before I sailed across the Narrow Sea, an old friend of Ned Stark’s came to see me at the Wall.” He felt detached, as if the part of him that wanted to keep it all hidden was falling away, making its escape, leaving him with one thing learned. He may have been sired by Rhaegar Targaryen, but he was still the boy Ned Stark raised and he could no longer hold the truth away from her.

He faced her. “I grew up knowing Ned Stark was the most honorable of men, I’ve been told it a thousand times. Except there was me, the one dark stain, proof of his broken vows.”

Every taunt, every hard look and short word, every time he’d been called bastard rushed back at him. “After the Rebellion was over, Ned rode to Dorne to find his sister Lyanna. Howland Reed rode at his side.”

Finally he raised his eyes to hers, the blue cold and unwavering, her face unreadable. “They found her dying from childbirth.” He could see her sharp intake a breath, felt himself like he was suffocating. “I was that child. I was never Ned’s son.” The words were heavy on his tongue, hard to force out. “I am Rhaegar’s son.”

“No.” Her voice was steady, a deadly calm that sent a shiver down his spine. “My brother did not steal and rape Lyanna Stark.”

“No, he did not.” Jon wanted to step to where she had slid off the bed, gather her up tightly, anything to make her quit looking at him like _that._ “I was told he married her in a secret ceremony, that she was willing.”

“And you believe this?”

She was standing right there, but he could see the distance growing between them, his loathing rearing up at this knowledge that he couldn’t keep it locked inside of him. “Ned never told me about my mother. Wouldn’t, couldn’t, it doesn’t matter. He never told anyone who she was. Never spoke of Lyanna either.”

“Ned Stark fought _against_ my family, was close friends of the man who sent assassins after me my whole life, conspired to have my brother and I killed. Yet, I’m supposed to believe a man who supported that, took a child born of Targaryen blood and raised it as his own?” Her chest was heaving, eyes bright and shining and he could feel his own body treating him the same.

“If he promised his sister to keep me safe, then yes, I believe it. There is no reason for Reed to tell me of this if it weren’t true. There is nothing to be gained.” He cursed his knowledge, her hard headed nature and his inability to stay quiet about it. He shifted on the balls of his feet, wanting to pace, unable to turn away.

“Except the throne.”

He was taken aback by the sudden chill in her voice, the cold chilling him down to his marrow. “I don’t want the throne. That’s never been a part of it. That is not why I came.”

“If you are the male son of Rhaegar Targaryen, as you claim, they’ll name you heir to the Iron Throne.” There was more than anger in her voice, in her eyes. A hurt sat there, unable to be hidden in their depths, something that went farther than the claim to Westeros.

“I don’t want it, Daenerys— Your Grace.” Howland Reed has said the same thing, had made him sift over the thought of it. He would be telling a lie if he said a part of him hadn’t enjoyed being chosen as Lord Commander, but _that_ novelty had swiftly worn away, and the thought of the Iron Throne left him overwhelmed.

“Are you certain? Because it seems you came to me knowing exactly who you are, hiding a secret that could unravel everything I’ve worked for.”

It was a ball of confusion, his dread and hurt making him want to lash out at the same time as begging for forgiveness. “I was never going to tell anyone.”

“So why did you? Tell me that, My Lord, why did you decide to unburden yourself now?”

“Because I knew not telling you was the same as lying to you. And I cannot, do not, want to give you lies.”

She was shaking, he could see it from where he stood, the ache tightening its grip. Whatever had been growing between them he had surely ruined, ripped apart and tossed to the wind, the wound in her as deep as the one in him.

Without another word, she gathered herself into a dressing gown, chin held up and shoulders straight as she turned to the door. Each step she took away from him made the cold worse, growing and taking over his limbs with the icy silence until he was afraid he was so brittle he’d break. She didn’t look back.

When the door closed between them he couldn’t help the strangled cry that left his chest, stomach rolling with despair. Surely he had doomed them all.

~*~*~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next- we dive right into Dany’s POV as she closes that door.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Jon’s truth finally revealed, Daenerys has to figure out what that means to her, to them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To my friend- jalen_mara
> 
> Thank you for your encouragement, for your excellent beta skills, your patience with me and for always being willing to be a sounding board
> 
> To everyone else, those who have helped along the way and to my readers.. you have know idea how much your support means to me..

 

 

 

She couldn’t breathe.

Leaning against the door she had closed behind her, Daenerys pressed a trembling fist to her mouth as she struggled against the squeezing sensation in her chest, hurt choking her as she heaved and gulped at air.

There was a clatter of armor, Grey Worm looming in her blurred sight and she moved her fingers to her eyes, finding them wet. 

_Was she crying? That could not be correct. She was a dragon and dragons did not cry._

“My Queen. What has happened? Stand aside.”

“No.” She caught the Commander’s wrist, feeling the coil of anger beneath her fingertips. “Just harsh words, Grey Worm, that is all. Jon Snow and I have had a disagreement.”

“I will drag him out here on his knees to apologize.”

A hysterical laugh bubbled up in her throat, barely kept under her slipping restraint. She wasn’t sure who the winner of that struggle would be, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. “Leave it be.”

He wasn’t convinced, she could see it written all over his usually purposely blank face but she shook her head again. She just needed a few moments to gather her wits, pick up her stunned emotions, untangle everything inside of her.

_He had lied to her._

That realization bubbled up as a burn she’d never felt from fire, making it difficult to breathe— a blow to her chest, that this man, one her affections were growing rapidly for, would keep something like this from her. Everything inside her heart told her he was being truthful, but for a woman who had been betrayed by men claiming to love her, it was not easy to grant him clemency. Not when she could be wrong about him.

Footsteps fell in behind her, flanking and protective as she walked away from Jon’s door, her path blurred by tear-filled eyes. She needed the security of her own room to sort through the jumble in her head.

_Targaryen. He was a Targaryen._

It twisted inside if her, the possibility that his confession was a lie making her want to fall to her knees and weep— the shock of hope that perhaps she was not the only one of her family left. Instead of elation, there was confusion in the pit of her stomach, not understanding _why_ he had kept this information from her if it were true, instead choosing to withhold it, when all she desperately wanted was a family. He did not seem deceitful, but she had been wrong before, and maybe she was wrong now— that all of this had been a careful scheme, all of their alliance plans a charade for him to take it all. She ignored the heavy feeling in her gut, that he was not the devious, hungry type, that maybe he was telling her the truth. If it were that simple, why did he not just tell her from the beginning?

She resumed her path to her own chambers, soothing herself with the information that if Jon’s parentage was as he claimed, then Rhaegar had not been dishonorable. The Lord and Ladies of Westeros had not known the true story.

A figure appeared in her path, bringing her up short, and when she saw it was Ser Davos, her anger flared again. She had also trusted this man, brought him into her household, to only then be deceived by him, adding another hurt to the list.

“Your Grace, I was just on my way to find Jon. He has received a raven.”

Coldly she stared, the ache blooming in her chest as she fought to remain impassive. “I believe he is in his chambers.” As he had not followed her out, something else that inexplicably gnawed at her, she assumed that he was still in his room, the room that smelled of them. “I would speak to you privately, Ser.”

There was the flicker of confusion across his features at her tone, but he bowed his head and fell in behind her as she swept past him in a rustle of silk. Her door opened as she reached it, and she nodded gratefully to the Unsullied soldier who stood there, letting out a deep breath as she stepped into the security of her private rooms.

“Please sit.” She gave a pointed look at a chair and Davos complied silently as she picked up a pitcher of water, pouring herself some in hopes of cooling the heat of her cheeks. Sipping delicately from her cup, she studied Jon’s advisor, wondering how the two seemingly honest men could have so easily duped her.

Finally sure of her control, she sat across from him, a map of Westeros stretched out on the table between them. “I must admit, Ser, I cannot quite grasp the ending of your plan.” And she couldn’t, everything tangled up inside of her and clouding her vision, unable to see exactly what they hoped to gain.

“The ending of our plan?” Davos placed his hands on the table, eyeing her cautiously. “Our plan was to come here and convince you to side with us in the war.”

“Was it?” She set her cup down, suddenly exhausted, the burn of tears once again filling her eyes. “The secret son of Rhaegar Targaryen, sails across the Narrow Sea and it’s all to bend the knee?”

“Targaryen? Who is? Jon Snow is Ned Stark’s son and is not aware of who his mother is,” Davos narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What is this about?”

_I wasn’t planning on telling anyone_.

She realized her misstep with a rush of chagrin, Jon’s rough voice ringing in her head, making her falter, making her _doubt_ , her own confusion leaving her jittery. “I am speaking of who his parents truly are. He informed me that he is the son of my brother Rhaegar, and Lyanna Stark.”

Davos opened his mouth and closed it again, shifting in his seat. He looked stunned. “I am not aware of this, Your Grace. As far as I was informed, he is the bastard son of Lord Stark.”

She stood then, too restless to remain still, twisting her fingers into the hem of her dressing gown. “According to Lord Snow, a man named Howland Reed came to visit him at the wall.” She paused.

“Yes, he was the man who delivered Robb Stark’s decree, naming Jon, King in the North.” 

It was a confirmation that coiled up inside of her, making the confusion even thicker. “Jon told me that Reed was at Ned Stark’s side when they found Jon.” Her voice caught, splintered. “And that his true lineage was secreted.”

“Your Grace, I assure you I knew nothing of this.” Davos stood, giving her a careful look. “And even without speaking to him on this matter, I am certain that Jon has harbored no ill intent or devious plans. I may not have known Jon for a very long time, but I have known him long enough to tell you that he’s striven to be a man that Ned Stark would be proud of, and if this is true— then that young man’s identity has been shattered, I can assure you of that. 

_Robert wanted you killed, but Lord Stark spoke against it_.

She found herself longing for Ser Barristan as she recalled his words. She bit the inside of her cheek to try and regain her composure. “Why would he not tell me before this?”

A hand fell to her shoulder, warm and comforting. “He was probably confused about it and pushed it to the back of his mind to focus on what lay ahead of us.”

Letting out a sigh she felt to the tips of her fingers, she nodded at Ser Davos. “Thank you, Ser, for your time.”

Staring at her toes curling into the stone floor, she gave another shuddering breath, tears falling steadily to her bare feet as the door closed, leaving her drowning in a sea of her tempestuous feelings.

 

~*~*~

 

There was a sudden rapping on his door, the heavy hand informing him it was not Daenerys returning, but rather someone else when he really did not want to make pleasantries with anyone. Ghost paced to the door, tail moving in a slow wag and Jon felt his shoulders slump forward, bile bitter in his mouth as his stomach rolled.

The door opened before he could reach it, revealing Davos, a disappointed look on his face. “Her Grace is very upset.” He closed the door behind him, offering a pat to Ghost as Jon pulled his tunic over his head, hiding his scars, and the harsh red lines her nails had scratched into his skin. “I happened upon her outside of her chambers. She was quite convinced we had an elaborate plan to mislead her.”

Dropping into the chair, he buried his head into his hands, unsure of himself, or how to fix it, wanting desperately for it to all go away. “What did she tell you?”

“A story about you being the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and not Ned Stark.” Davos peered at him. “I informed her it was certainly not a scheme, and that it was not something I was aware of.”

“Because I did not tell you.” The confession burnt the tip of his tongue. “I first learned of it at the same time I found out that Robb had named me his heir.”

There was a whistle of air as Davos dropped down across from him, the other man looking poleaxed, forehead drawing together in a wrinkle. “You believe him?”

“There is no reason for a lie like that.” His knuckles cracked as he flexed them, a result of spending so much of his life holding a sword. “There is no benefit to anyone, giving me that type of knowledge. What do I do with it?”

“Apparently you sail across the sea, end up shipwrecked, and find your stubborn self in the fighting arena, before being rescued by and then fucking your Aunt.”

Even though he felt like someone was squeezing his lungs tightly, he gave a snort of appreciation for Davos trying to lighten the mood. And he wasn’t _wrong_ , since, Jon realized, he had done exactly that.

He lifted his head up and stared bleakly at nothing, ready to voice a question that had chewed at him. “How did he ever do it and not resent me?” He pushed his fingers through his hair- his Stark colored hair. “Or maybe he did and I just didn’t realize it.”

“I cannot speak for him, but raising the son of my beloved sister would not be cause for resentment. I’d love that boy as my own and be glad to have him.”

A strange noise came from his throat, a sudden spasm in his chest and he felt Ghost’s wet nose push into his hand, grounding him for a moment long enough to blink back tears. “Everything I’ve known is a lie.”

There was a sigh before a chair was moved closer, Davos settling in. “I wish you had told me all of this before.”

“We probably could have come up with a better plan than me blurting it out to the Queen.” A weariness settled over him like a fog, everything inside aching with regret. 

“I believe it was more that you startled her, than anger. She looked just as distraught as you do. I would think finding out you are not the last of your family would be a surprise, especially if that family had not said anything, even when a marriage alliance was made.”

It was a gentle chide, and he raised his head to look at Davos. “She looked more than startled when she left here.”

“Give her time and then go talk to her. Maybe the two of you will manage an actual conversation.”

He managed a huff of amusement at Davos’ narrowed eyes. “Aye, if she’ll let me close enough to speak.” He paused. “It doesn’t change anything, Davos, I still want what I wanted before, what she and I agreed to.”

“Then convince her of that. She’s not unreasonable. If she was, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation. Apologize to her.”

He clenched his fist, watched sinew flex, rubbed his fingers across the scars on his palm. “What if she doesn’t accept it?”

“Well, then your plan is fucked. At least it’s warm here, no freezing our arses off while we wait for death.” Davos gave him a brief smile. “Talk to her, Jon.”

He thought of the enemy awaiting him on the other side of the sea, the grim certainty of going back without Daenerys’ support. “I’ll have to see if she’s open to my original offer.” He paused. “I have to go back, Davos, with or without her. I cannot stay here.”

“I know you can’t, but it’s not on you to save Westeros, Jon.”

He stayed silent as Davos got up with another scratch to Ghost and crossed to the door. It was still early, and yet he was already exhausted, a wrung out feeling that went much deeper than being overworked or tired from lack of sleep. Rubbing his sternum as if it could ease the ache that had settled below it, he looked up when the door did not open.

“I wish you would have told me so that this hadn’t festered. It wasn’t something you needed to shoulder on your own, lad.”

The air rattled out of his chest as the door closed, the sting in his eyes making him look skyward and blink rapidly in hopes of keeping his composure.

 

~*~*~*~

 

It seemed to Tyrion that he had been writing endlessly for days, when in fact it has only been a part of the morning. But yet, he still had other matters that needed his attention, not just the official announcements to send to the North.

Adding a little flourish as he wrote _Targaryen_ , he sat back, wondered how in the gods’ names he was going to find a Sept to marry them in. There were no godswoods in Meereen, as far as he was aware.

The Queen has made it very clear that she preferred to have this union take place before they sailed for Westeros, and Jon Snow, a little red in the face, had been in perfect agreement. Tyrion sealed the scroll and tossed it to the side.

It had been blind luck that had landed this alliance in their lap. While he was sure a part of the North would grumble and balk, Jon Snow’s refusal to let that deter him was encouraging. Apparently, the young man had inherited his father’s stubbornness. It was going to be rather interesting when that trait finally collided with the Queen’s own nature. Tyrion gave a rather wry smile at the thought.

A sudden rustle of robes had him looking up, surprised at his visitor. He had been sure they would not see the Spider before they landed in Westeros. But, it was none other as the man sat across from him and tucked his hands into the ends of his sleeves.

“I can’t decide if this means you bring good news, or bad.” Tyrion sealed another scroll.

“That depends on how it is received I suppose.” Varys’ face gave nothing away.

Tyrion continued to write for a few moments as if he wasn’t impatient, or as if immune to wanting the tidbits he knew the other man would offer. After finishing the next message, he forced himself to add the seal, toss it to the pile before looking up. “Let’s have it then.”

“We have Dorne’s support. Ellaria Sand is the new power there, and very upset at your sister over Oberyn’s death.” 

Tyrion winced at the memory of the horrible brutality.

“I have also been made aware of a raven that came for Jon Snow only this morning. It is from Old Town where his former black brother, Samwell Tarly, is in training to be a Maester.”

The pause caused Tyrion to grit his teeth, inwardly cursing Varys’ need for dramatics. “Why is that message of interest to me? What information does it contain?” 

“It’s a sealed scroll, how would I know?” Tyrion stared until the other man shifted. “He informs the former Lord Commander that Dragonstone has an abundance of Dragonglass. I am not sure why that is of importance. The second part is a bit more interesting and might just change the game.. It seems that Jon Snow wanted his friend to look for official record of an annulment and a new marriage of one Rhaegar Targaryen.”

“To whom?” That was a confusing bit of information. “Why would he be interested in that?”

There was a look of pleased amusement on Varys face. “Where are your wits Lord Hand? You used to be sharper than this.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “When Ned Stark returned North after the Rebellion, what did he return with?”

The tale was well known even if no one talked about it. “His sister’s body and his bastard son.” The flicker of understanding dawned. “And everyone wondered how the honorable Ned Stark would father a bastard.” He paused again, the full effect of what had been hidden right under their noses sweeping over him. “He was extremely fortunate that boy doesn’t have Targaryen hair.”

“Very lucky.”

Already there was an ache brewing behind his temples, this new information having the potential to ruin all of their carefully made plans. “So, that makes Jon Snow, heir to the Throne? Or at least a male heir, probably better received than a woman.” 

“Possibly. It is interesting, is it not, that nobody has this information? Jon Snow must be keeping this close. It makes you wonder why?”

Tyrion faltered, his first instinct to deny that Jon had the inclination to rule, but realized he really did not know the young man enough to call that the truth. It did seem suspicious given the revelation that had come to light. “We will have to tell Her Grace.” He let out a sigh, dread of complications and hidden agendas making him weary. “I am not looking forward to that conversation.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

She was wallowing. Standing on the balcony, she looked over Meereen, the sunlight glinting off the water making her squint her puffy eyes. She had climbed into a tub of scalding water once Ser Davos had left, scrubbing the scent of Jon off of her skin and giving herself that brief time to fall apart. Now, her fingers pressed into her temples to try and relieve the pressure that had built up there, a result of seemingly endless tears.

It was utterly foolish, she chided herself, reminding herself that she was a _Queen_ and there was no room to be fragile, to let herself break into pieces, especially over a man that she barely knew. Composure must be regained and held fast while she took a step back to examine what this new information would mean.

“Your Grace?”

Missandei’s voice startled her and she spun, wet hair tangling around bared shoulders, damp spots showing on the thin dress.

“Tyrion would like to see you.” The young woman stopped short and Daenerys felt the careful look as she was measured. “Is something wrong?”

She let out a short laugh, twisting her fingers as she glanced down. “Do I look that terrible?”

“You look upset.” It was a reassuring tone, despite the words meaning she looked as messy as she felt.

Giving a nod of agreement, she went back inside, allowing herself to be pushed into a chair, Missandei picking up a brush to run soothingly through her hair. “There may be a chance this alliance with Jon Snow will not work.” The words hurt, a sting of barbs digging into sensitive flesh.

“You’ve had a disagreement?”

Missandei wouldn’t pry for details, a relief since Daenerys knew she could not give away Jon’s secret, shame haunting her after accidentally revealing it to Davos. “You could call it that.” Still, she needed to voice her feelings to her friend and confidant. “I was given information by him, that could affect everything going forth.”

“Could or will?” The brush was set down with a click, deft fingers parting hair and starting to braid.

She closed her eyes, feeling the squeeze in her chest. “I cannot be certain. He assures me that it will not, but it might be more than he can control.”

Another braid was started. “Do you think he is speaking the truth?”

And there it was, the battle within her, her gut feeling that he was truthful, dependable against the voices in her head warning he was just like everyone else. “I believe so, because if he was being deceitful, there would have been better ways to go about this.”

The fingers stopped. “Then what is the issue?” A slight tug as the motions started back up. “This is about something else then? You’re hurt.”

“Yes.” She shifted in her seat, feeling relief as she admitted it out loud. “The information he deliberately withheld is something that matters greatly to me. That he was willing to keep it from me, wounds me much more than I care to admit.”

“Is he aware of that? Did he know that when he kept it a secret?”

“No.” She blew out a breath, let her eyes burn while refusing to let them tear up. She had endured worse than this. It was time to start behaving as such. “He couldn’t know how I would feel and I left before angry words were spoken, things said that could not be taken back.”

Missandei peeked into her view, soft brown eyes full of concern. “Maybe now it is time for you to have that conversation. Cooler heads have prevailed. If he doesn’t know how you hurt, how can it be repaired?”

Standing, she smoothed her hands down her dress, pressing against any wrinkles. It was the correct course of action. They could not move past it, or solve any problems if she and Jon did not speak on it. And it was more than just emotions and family matters. An alliance that would affect a war was hanging in the balance, and though duty should come before her feelings, she wanted to be selfish. Jon Snow had too quickly become more than just an obligation for her reign.

“You are wise, my friend.” She had a better grip on herself now. “I will speak to him, but first I will see what business Tyrion has for me.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

She didn’t recognize the man sitting with her Lord Hand, but Tyrion certainly seemed familiar with him. They both rose as she approached, the steady footfalls of Grey Worm and Missandei behind her. Studying him, she came to a stop at her chair, noting the sharp look in his eyes even though his expression tried for meek and mild.

“Your Grace.” The stranger tipped his head, giving a small bow and she nodded at him, swinging her gaze to Tyrion for an explanation.

“Your Grace, may I present, Lord Varys. He has been recruiting allies for us in Westeros.”

“Oh?” She sat, the two men doing the same and she forced herself to focus. Allies were needed, especially now that the pact with the North was on uneven ground. She cleared her throat, driving herself away from the thought. “What news do you bring us, Lord Varys? My Hand has told me of your exploits, so I am most curious.”

A flicker passed over the man’s face, an unsure moment and then it was gone. “Dorne has pledged themselves to us. Ellaria Sand hates Cersei with a vengeance and with good reason.”

A cup of wine appeared at her elbow and she took it with a murmur of thanks to the girl who brought it to her. Picking it up, she swirled it for a moment, recalling all the lessons she had learned of Westeros. “Whatever the reasoning, I am glad for more support and another army.” A shift from Tyrion caught her eye and she studied the man’s expression, dread growing heavy within her, compounding onto the already weighty mass in her stomach. “It is good news, isn’t it, My Lord?”

“Yes, that is.” Another creak of the chair as he fidgeted, her temper spiking for a moment, tired and done with secrets on this day. “We have just discovered other news, Your Grace. Something that will change our alliance with the North, unfortunately.”

It was a splash of cold water and she blinked, trying not to show her surprise. Jon seemed to believe his secret was well hidden, but it may not be as unknown as he was told. “Go on.”

“We have found information about Jon Snow, Your Grace. It seems he might not be who we think.”

He was tiptoeing around telling her, and she was equally annoyed and grateful. It must be apparent that she had a growing affection for the Northerner, and she vowed that she would need to work on showing such weaknesses. “You mean to tell me that Jon Snow is the trueborn son of my brother Rhaegar, and Lyanna Stark?” Saying it outloud seemed strange to her tongue, the mix of feelings staying in her throat, no matter that she had done little else but think about it for the day . “I already know.”

The slight look of surprise on Tyrion’s face did bring her some humor, his gaze mirroring Varys’ also before he tamped it down. “You do?”

A scuff of a boot sole caught her attention, and she knew it was him before she saw him, hovering. The look of uncertainty painted his face as he shifted silently, his approach as stealthy as a wolf. Her heart gave traitorous roll, unable to behave, though she wished it would. It seemed though that it wanted this man, excitement almost enough to drown out bruised feelings.

_Blood of my blood_.

“Did I not just tell you? Yes. He informed me himself.” Setting her face sternly, she eyed the two men awaiting their next words, wondering what her response would be.

After a long pause, Tyrion shifted in his seat. “We must re-strategize-“

“No.” Looking past her Hand, she focused on Jon. There was no trace of the defiant man she had seen in the fighting pits. In his place was someone unsure, like a child too used to harsh words. Her chest ached. “We will do nothing of the sort. I have made my alliance, Lord Tyrion, and I plan on marrying Jon Snow. Nothing has changed.”

“A formidable pairing.” Varys nodded his approval.

“But-“ Tyrion’s glare at Varys did not produce a reaction. He turned his gaze back to her. “This means the line of succession has changed.”

Tyrion’s words grated against her skin, making her feel surly and ready to snap. “According to whom? Rhaegar died, Viserys was the next in line and he is dead. That leaves me.”

“The Lords of Westeros may not see it that way.”

The surge of anger tasted like ash in her mouth, dry and bitter, frustration ready to pour out when it was stopped by the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps, a hand slamming flat on the table, almost making her flinch.

Outside a dragon roared.

“Why would they ever know?” Jon’s voice was Valyrian Steel, smooth, sharp, and deadly. “I certainly won’t be announcing it, so who would? They should have no say in the matter. They would overlook Daenerys, why? Because she is a woman?”

The fire was visible in his eyes, sparking within her breast, the sound of her name on his tongue flooding her excitement, clashing with the residue of hurt. She stayed silent, allowing Jon his standoff with her council.

“Don’t pretend that is shocking, Jon Snow, and do not fool yourself. If we found out—“

“Exactly how did you find out?” His voice dipped into a low growl, Ghost standing at his side, a silent sentry. “Until this day, I had not spoken of it to anyone.”

That question distracted her from the conflict waging inside of her and she watched Tyrion shift in his seat, Varys looking unbothered. “Please, My Lord, sit.” She gave Jon a look that allowed no room for argument, waiting until he was seated, his wolf curling up at his feet, before speaking again. “Should we send for Ser Davos? Your advisor should be here for this discussion.”

Missandei discreetly disappeared, no doubt in search of the grizzled advisor, despite Jon’s stubborn shake of his head, his hard gaze never wavering from the two men across from him.

“Little birds are everywhere, My Lord. They hear much.” Varys tone was placating, Daenerys noting that it struck the wrong chord in Jon, a snarl crawling across his features.

“Strange, is it not-“ he tossed a scroll onto the table, the paper unrolling in front of her. Placing her fingers in her lap, she fought the urge to pick it up and examine it. “-that you happen upon this information and give it to Her Grace the same day I receive confirmation of it.”

Guilt flashed briefly across Tyrion’s face before it was smoothed down. “Could that not also be applied to you? A confession to Her Grace, before she heard it from somewhere else?”

“I don’t want that fuckin’ throne.” Ghost rose to his feet as Jon stiffened, an eruption waiting to happen, and her hands left her lap, ready to intervene as Davos strode in, harried and angry, accusing looks thrown to all but Jon.

“What is the meaning of this?” There was a dangerous thread in his tone, the mild mannered man ready to defend his King.

“Please join us, Ser Davos.” Everyone froze as she spoke, command in her voice as she took back control, too weary, too vexed to let this altercation continue. “My council has raised some concerns regarding Jon and he is insisting that their worry is for naught.”

Hope flickered in those dark eyes as they fixed upon her, some of the intensity brought forth by their harsh words quieting. Suddenly, she was ready to have a private conversation with him, to try and keep a rational hold on her hurt and temper, to make him understand.

“Of course it is.” Davos scoffed, leaning into the hands he placed on the table. “If we had plans of naming him king of the Seven Kingdoms, we would have planned accordingly.”

“Ser Davos is correct.” There was a sneer on Jon’s face. “Not much on battle plans, are you, My Lord?” He ignored Tyrion’s attempt at protest. “If I had wanted to be crowned king, I would not have sailed across the Narrow Sea to parley with my competition on foreign land. That is the quickest way to get myself killed.”

His words rang of truth, the last inkling of her doubt dissipating into the air. He gave her every indication that he was stubborn of nature, but not foolish. All that remained was the wound left from his need to keep his family ties a secret.

“Leave us.” Everyone’s eyes snapped to her. “I would like to speak to Lord Snow, alone.” 

Tyrion looked to argue, but her warning look dissuaded him, and they all climbed to their feet, Davos giving Jon one last look of concern before leaving with the rest. But she did not care about what the others thought, not when she was still watching Jon, relief slumping his shoulders, the tightness of his face giving way. There was still much need for this conversation— she hadn’t forgiven him so easily, but she wouldn’t turn him away. Not when she had just found him

It was almost impossible to remember that it was only the previous morning that had found them in this same spot, soft careful words of binding themselves together. Now there was an obstacle sitting between them, harsh and jagged on the smooth table, something Daenerys was not quite sure how to repair. 

It seemed Jon Snow was also floundering, watching her with wariness.

“You wanted to speak to me, Your Grace.”

Her face almost twitched as he so easily and cleverly positioned her into taking the first step into broaching the subject. He looked wary, a trapped animal who did not know if she was friend or foe and she found that it grated along her skin after the intensity of what they had shared.

“Yes. I believe a conversation is in order since so much has changed with this day.” She kept her voice cool, face purposefully blank. There might be the urge to crawl into his lap, press her nose into his neck, but there was also a sore spot inside of her, a part that she was not sure how to soothe, or even if she was ready to forgive so quickly. 

“Aye.”

“Just aye?” She raised an eyebrow, trying to keep down the impulse to push at him, see what type of reaction could be wrung from him. To see if he could bruise as easily as she had. Instead, she tapped her nails into the table, barely able to keep her foot from jiggling, deciding on what would be the best approach, trying to keep her wits gathered. 

“What would you like me to say? To ask? I _am_ sorry I kept this from you. It was not done for harms sake or for any devious plan. And I just heard you tell your council that our marriage alliance is still going forward. So I am not sure what you want from me right now” The strength of him was bubbling below the surface, his frustration and hurt almost visible, stubbornness written in the set of his jaw. 

“Would you have preferred I told them to call it off?” It was a sharp bite of words. “I’m sure that can still be arranged.”

“I would like you to tell me exactly why you are so angry with me.” His own tone was a quick snap, his own temper riling up and something inside of her preened with the boiling of his blood. “This was not done out of malice, I don’t want the bloody throne. If you felt threatened by me, I would have been out in the courtyard to be beheaded by Grey Worm or incinerated by a dragon.”

There was a defiant set to his jaw that she tried not to admire, torn between wanting to wrap her arms around her midsection for comfort and the temptation to carry out one of those exact scenarios he had presented.

“I would prefer not to fight with you, Jon.” It was the soft admission that caused his shoulders to drop tension, his battle stance relaxing enough to warm the ache inside her chest. Giving a sigh, she understood that she needed to set aside her own turbulent emotions— he needed an explanation or he could not know what was on her mind. Pausing, she tried to cool her ire, collecting the thoughts and feelings that she would need to voice in order for him to understand. “I am not sure how much history your uncle gave you as you grew up, about our family.” She didn’t miss his flinch at the word _family_ , her frustration flaring again. “I, myself do not have it all, I am certain, but let me tell you what I do know.” 

Seeing he was content to sit quietly for a moment, she continued. “I was born in Westeros— Dragonstone to be precise, though I don’t remember it. Smuggled away from those who wanted to kill a newborn babe and her brother, who was a mere child. All because of who we were.” Her breath caught, eyelashes closing just for a moment while she gathered herself back up. “All I had was Viserys and we did not grow up easily. No more than paupers, selling almost all we had of our family to keep living.” She glanced down at her mother’s ring, fluttered her fingers. “My brother sold me for an army, Jon Snow. He dreamed of going back to Westeros, to home, and claiming what was ours. And so he sold me for my maidenhead.”

Unable to sit any longer, she climbed to her feet, allowing herself the indulgence of crossing her arms, securing herself against all the memories. “And his greed led to his downfall.” Remembered that horrible moment, the urge for self-preservation, the hollow ache of sadness. “And so it fell to me to take back what was ours, because I was the last Targaryen, alone in this world.”

She turned then, taking in the dark hair, the dark eyes that looked miserable as they stared at her. “But, I’m not the last Targaryen and you almost did not tell me that.”

“But I did.” 

“Yes, with shame in your voice as if our family is some sort of evil, vile thing.” She took a deep breath, drawing herself taller, angling her chin— a brave front to give him the piece of herself she had kept secreted away. “I understand why it was kept from you. Surely you would be dead or would have been cast out to be on the run with us. And more than likely dead because Viserys would not have cared for competition. So, I am thankful that Ned Stark kept you close- alive- even as I am sorry that you were never given the truth. And I am angry with you because who you are is something you seemingly despise, when all I’ve wanted was a family.” Her voice cracked with the strain of confession, with all the weight bearing down on her, with the small hope that she was unable to let go of. “That is you, Jon.”

There was a silence then, falling between them as they both measured their hurt before Jon broke it with a clearing of his throat. “I always wanted to know who my mother was-“ his voice was rough, failing to control his emotions. “-and come to find out she was right there the entire time.” Sad, tired eyes fixed on her and she could imagine him as a child, looking at every strange woman to see if she had come to claim him . “I've learned that the man I loved as a father, that I looked up to, is not my father at all. I am Aegon Targaryen— someone who would have been killed without hesitation by a man Ned Stark called friend.”

“He saved your life.” She repeated it, knowing he was saying the words but not sure if they were actually sinking in.

“I know that.” It came out in a hiss of pain and he stood, unable to hold still any longer. “And still I lived with the word bastard over my head so he could fulfill a promise to his sister. You wanted a family and I wanted to know if my mother loved me.” He made a noise then, a wounded sound that pulled at her heart, his black lashes fluttering over his eyes for a moment. “And now that I know this, I don’t know if it’s better or worse.”

He carried more than just the scars on his skin, she realized, some of her own hurt slipping away, some of his anguish hidden on the inside. Two lost children having found their way to each other, if they could mend the inflicted damage done. 

“So, I’ve just been pushing it away, focusing on the only thing that should matter. Keeping everyone alive.”

“That does matter.” She stopped herself from moving forward. “I do understand the importance, so please do not think I’m taking it lightly. But _this_ is also important, Jon, to me and it should be to you also.”

“If we don’t stay alive then none of it matters.” Strands of stubbornness clung to him, a defensive gesture she recognized. 

“But what about between now and then.” Raising a hand, she gestured between them. “Are we supposed to just prepare for death? And forget about living while we wait? I don’t want to do that.” Exasperation leaked into her tone, inwardly cursing the narrow trail he had put himself on. “All I’ve wanted was family, to not be alone. And it is a cruel jest that the one man who is my relation wants no part of it.”

“That’s not fair.” Finally he stood, unable to keep himself aloof and separated, crossing over to her, cupping her elbows, fingers holding her firm. “I grew up believing I was my father’s shame, for people treating me as a dirty secret that they couldn’t stand to look upon.” He shook his head. “It was something I was learning to live with, and now I’m just trying to understand this. It’s not about how I feel about you.”

Letting go, he scrubbed a hand over his face and she missed his touch immediately, barely restraining herself for reaching from him. “It is less about being a Targaryen and more about not being a Stark.” He let out a short bark of a laugh. “I sound mad.”

Taking a step back she absorbed his words, trying to understand his reasoning, his own feelings differing so much from her own. But she thought she might have a small grasp on it, trying desperately to not take it personally. “Confused, not mad.” Finally she dropped back into her chair, ungraceful and exhausted, drained from all the emotions. “I’m not sure where we stand now, My Lord.”

He moved, a flurry of easy movement, suddenly in the seat across from her, a large hand settled over hers folded neatly in her lap. “I would like to be where we were before I told you about this. I came here to ask for your help, because I had heard you were someone who did just that.” A thumb rubbed soothingly against her wrist. “And I can see those stories were true, so Daenerys, help me, please.”

“I gave my word, I will not back out now.” The feeling of roughened skin felt better than it should. 

“I know.” He fit his fingers to hers. “Well, you do not seem to be one who would go back on a promise.” A small hesitant grin flashed over his face, her pulse giving a quick jump before settling back down. “A part of me resents that I’m going to drag you into all of this.”

“We do what we must.” Reaching out she cupped his face, rough hairs scratching her palm. “You cannot run from that.”

“I’d like to run from a great many things.” He pressed into her touch. “It seems I am unable to do so.”

“I don’t believe you’d run from anything, even if opportunity arose.” And that was why it came as no surprise that he was burrowing so deeply under her skin, in all his unselfish glory, his skin turning pink with her sincerity.

“I might be too stupid to.”

“You are far from it.” She sat up, letting her head loll back, tension draining from muscles that had spent the day coiled tightly, ready to bring them back around to untangling the threads between them. “When you say you would like to go back to where we were before this—“ her heart clenched without her permission. “—exactly, what part is _that_?”

“I knew you were my aunt the first time I fucked you, if that is what you are wondering.” There was a hint of a smile, a touch of sadness in his eyes. “It won’t be weighing on me now.”

She allowed herself a laugh, pressure inside easing a bit with his revelation. Of course he’d known who she was. Not that relation was a hurdle to a Targaryen. Letting herself, finally she touched him, tipping forward into her seat to press her lips to his, the willing flesh parting, her breath catching with the flick of his tongue against her upper lip.

The hand that cupped the back of her neck tightened for a moment, a spasm of touched nerves. “Daenerys, I’m not sure I can be who you want me to be. Right now everythin’ is a mess and I cannot think clearly.”

Indulging herself, she leaned back in for another chaste kiss, letting the soft touch cloud her mind, fill her senses. “I want the man who sailed across the Narrow Sea-“ It was the truth, she realized, now that her hurt and anger had subsided enough for her to see. “-who stood champion in the arena by his determination.” Straightening, she looked him in the eye. “Who was convinced to marry a woman he did not know, for an alliance that would bring him an army. The same man who plans to lead the fight against the dead. He’s worthy of being a king, married to the queen.”

“You flatter.” His voice cracked, hand burying in the mass of silver at her neck. “I care not about being a king, but I think I would enjoying being married to a woman brave enough to go to war and get her hands dirty.”

“What type of Queen would I be if I wasn’t willing to fight?”

“Most of them.” A hand pushed her hair off her shoulder. “Except maybe the dragonriders of old. You are a true Targaryen, Daenerys Stormborn.”

“Now who flatters.” It was a sweet ache around her heart, a realization that she would be able to forgive, to grow to love him, maybe help him accept the dragon heritage.

“Let me stand at your side while we wage war. “The hand hesitated for a moment, thumb stroking over the pulse in her neck, a burst of energy crawling into her blood. 

“I will.” For a moment she was soaring in the air, that feeling unlike any other, his touch keeping her high.

“Then it is settled.” There was a ghost of a smile on his face, almost bashful. “I was told the wedding will take place in two days time. Now, we have done many things wrong so far.” His hand took hers, fingers lacing together. “I’m going to stay out of your bed until we are married.” He shook his head and at her sound of protest. “Let us get to know each other a bit better without the cloud of heat drivin’ us.”

“That is absurd.” She shook her head, though charmed by his reasoning. “We will get to know each other properly while bound together. And with you in my bed-“ she squeezed his hand. “I learn much about you.”

“Daenerys.” His face flooded red. “Please.”

Sniffing, she tossed her head, sure that two nights alone would not make for anything than more of a craving. But, it might give her more time to settle her mind and heart from the upheaval this day had brought. “I will agree to your ridiculous terms.”

 

~*~*~

 

Jon Snow was infuriatingly true to his word.

They spent the rest of the dwindling day down at the bay, inspecting the progress of preparing the fleet, her Queen’s facade disappearing when Ghost tucked his tail between his legs with a whine, laying down as Jon boarded a ship.

She had made a crooning noise at the sullen wolf, dropping to her knees on the dock to bury her hands in the white fur, murmuring words of reassurance as Jon just shook his head and came back, lightly scolding his companion for the lack of bravery.

With a glower she shielded her eyes from the sun with her hand, ready to remind him that their journey over hadn’t exactly been smooth, when his hands hooked under her elbows and she was pulled back to her feet, soft lips crashing into her own, marking a span of time when she simply forgot where she was— that she was standing in open view of her people, drawn into the feeling of his mouth possessing her, lightheaded and dizzy when he finally pulled away.

“What was that for?” She asked, almost panting and still leaning into him in a daze, trying to find where her wits had fled to.

“Because you are concerned about a wolf.” His answer had been brief before he turned back and snapped his fingers, the animal in question making it to his feet and slinking after Jon.

Standing there and waiting while he inspected supplies, she let her heart race, felt the blood rushing through her veins, watching his dark head move about amongst the endless amount of rigging, allowing herself to feel the excitement of new beginnings.

He left her that night, breathless once again, fingers threaded through her hair as he pressed her against the door, slowly and thoroughly ravaging her mouth until he finally broke away, eyes wild and black with want.

“My Queen.” He whispered against the shell of her ear, making her shiver against him, giving him pout as he smiled and opened her door, ushering her inside, alone.”

Morning found her restless, slightly irritable after a night of tossing and turning, mind still churning over the previous day, body craving his touch.

She scowled at Tyrion’s questions, managing to relax when Jon and Davos arrived to be discuss the details, Jon showing another message he’d received about dragonglass on Dragonstone, a true enthusiasm on his face as he explained how it could help them.

More plans were made, Jon’s face looking nervous when Tyrion announced that due to a lack of Godswood or Septs, they would have to be married by Melisandre, the Lord Of Light binding them together, and Daenerys found it fitting, never having faith in any gods, that the woman responsible for bringing Jon back from death would oversee their beginning.

The afternoon was spent in the pressing heat, clouds gathering over the sea as they stood over a map of Westeros, Jon and Davos giving as much information as they could about strategic placements for battle, the terrain that could help or that should be avoided, the likelihood of stubbornness in the Northerners.

By the time the day was at an end, Daenerys was tired, head full of information, and the seemingly impossible task in front of them. Jon left her again, the promise of marriage clouding their heads, and a sound kiss, hands grabbing desperately for him before he left.

And now, she lay lonely in her bed, waiting for the storm to come in, the air thick as molasses. Rolling to her side, she ran a hand over the spot Jon should be, the low ache of want settling inside of her.

They were to be married the following eve, Melisandre explaining what would happen, Jon scowling at the mention of ditchfire. She had laughed then, as she had taken his hand, promised to keep him safe from the flames, his smile settling inside her chest, filling her with warmth and light. Their unease and bruised feelings had slowly left, almost gone completely— making way for her to reacquaint herself with the pull she felt towards him, the urge to be close, to let him in.

Flopping over to her back, she huffed in frustration. She could not last another night without having him.

She got up.

Forgoing her dressing gown in favor of wrapping the sheet tightly around herself, she decided to retrieve what she wanted, to let soft words and urgent touches help soothe the jagged edges that still sat within her.

Her Unsullied fell in behind her, no questions asked, just the promise of protection as she strode down the hall, the low light from torches showing the path down to Jon’s door, a rumble of thunder hiding the sounds of her bare feet, of rustling fabric dragging along the stone.

She let herself in without knocking.

The bed was empty, her heart dropping for one moment before Ghost’s white tail gave away their position, a corner of a blanket peeking out from the balcony. She followed it, curiosity peaked until she stepped out into the fading dark, a slight breeze cooling her skin.

“It was too hot in there.”

From the lit candles in his room she could see the light reflecting in his eyes, curls wild and loose. He had apparently the same inklings as herself, loose fitting trousers shrugged over his hips and undone as he sat against the stone, staring up at the sky, the direwolf stretched out at his feet.

Her heart gave a thump.

“I could not sleep.” She adjusted her sheet, giving him a small smile when he shifted over, allowing her to settle in beside him, her skin prickling at the close proximity. “It seems you are having trouble as well.”

“Aye.” Clasping his hands behind his head, he did not turn his gaze. “Thought I might be able to out here. Now it just seems like I’ll be getting rained on.”

Humming, she shifted her thighs together, ignoring the impulse to touch him, and wrapped her arms loosely around her legs, chin on her knees where she could watch the clouds roll closer. “So it seems.”

His heavy gaze moved to her, all fire and need, making a shiver ripple over her skin, aching and want blooming within. But she stayed still, let anticipation crawl between them, thread and knot, tying them closer, stretching and pulling.

“Are you ready for this journey, Daenerys? Are you certain it is what you want?”

Somehow she knew his words meant more than the upcoming war, more than righting the injustice done to their family, and she finally reached out for him, a hand settling on his forearm, the skin hot under her fingertips, making sure he could see her face, read it in her eyes as she answered. “Yes.”

Hands reached for her, a little noise coming from his chest, her stomach rolling in agreement as he hoisted her up, settling her in his lap and she squeezed narrow hips with her thighs, holding him tightly, her cover slipping down to her waist.

His gaze never wavered, fingers pushing the hair away from her face, cupping her neck, blood beginning to awaken and sing as his thumbs tilted her chin up enough to give him a better angle, the rough whisper of her name against her lips before his mouth closed over hers. 

Slow was not something they had tried before, always too frantic to find skin, for the buildup of pleasure, but her hands found balance on his shoulders, her head filling with a buzz as if she’d indulged in too much wine, his tongue just as sweet as it slid along hers.

Breathing heavily as they finally parted, she shifted, felt his cock stirring and ready through the soft fabric, the flame within growing hotter, a little wilder and she threaded her fingers into his hair, tugging sharply, a hiss of air coming out of a rounded mouth. She latched onto that mouth, her teeth digging into the supplenous of his bottom lip, his hips jerking between her thighs. 

The hand at her throat gave a slight squeeze, pulling a whimper from her, breath stalling in her chest, fingers sliding down her back and she arched into his touch, rocking with the hard grip on her bottom. With a greedy noise she ravished, relishing his tightening grasps, the slick slide of his lips, wondered if they could stay like this for always, hearts pounding between them, soft noises of delight caressing sensitive skin.

But suddenly it wasn’t enough, the liquid heat at her core insisting on more, of being filled and stretched, surrounded by him and she gasped, his teeth nipping her jaw, pulling her closer to his chest, letting her struggle to feel the friction, a hand scooping up a breast, thumb and forefinger pinching a tip.

With another pull to his hair, she offered her neck up to be sampled, felt the first few drops of a cool rain on her back, the storm finally breaking above them, Jon cursing before scrambling up in a flex of muscle, letting her cling tightly around him. 

She laughed, the sheet tangling around his feet, another clap of thunder as the skies opened up, rain pouring down as he struggled to get them free.

“You’re not helping.” He growled with a quirk of his lips, hair sticking to his neck and she closed her eyes, secure in his arms as he carried them indoors, Ghost streaking by them to settle back down on the rug.

He took them down to the bed in one motion, forearms braced to keep from crushing her and she grabbed at his neck, pulling him down, wrapping her legs around him, heels digging into the top of his rounded arse, hips rocking to rub her center on his trousers, a rough scrape against her wet center, need making her demanding as she nipped and sucked at his ravished mouth, feet pushing his trousers down until she could free and fist his cock, mutual groans of appreciation as she stroked him, root to tip, his weight bearing into her grip.

She wanted _more_ , a hand on his shoulder had him submitting, rolling onto his back, discarding his clothing with an aggressive toss to the floor and then he was sprawled below her, a tempting view of lustful eyes and kiss swollen lips, body and cock hardened and awaiting her touch.

A hand on his stomach held him down, the ridges and bumps quivering under her hold, excitement a thrum in her veins as she settled between strong thighs, his raspy breaths making her _want_ , her thumb testing the silky skin before she looked up to watch him then closed her mouth over him.

His body jerked in reaction and she hummed at the pleasing taste, the struggle as she sucked him down, lingering for a moment before pulling back up with some force, repeating the motion. Gods, she was soaked, propping herself up enough to straddle a leg, giving herself a moment to grind down with the same rhythm of her mouth, his fingers tangling in her hair to hold her for a moment on his cock, letting her struggle and swallow, slaver pooling, her free hand cupping his stones, squeezing lightly as he released his hold, letting her drag a mouthful of air.

Again, she treated them both to taking him into her mouth as far as possible, muscles straining in effort to hold himself still until he finally gave up, dragging her loose with a pop, settling her ready cunt over his wet cock, both of them panting as he wiped extra saliva from her mouth and she nipped at his thumb, ready to lift up and impale herself, end the torment of waiting.

But he had other ideas, shifting himself down the bed, hands on her hips,to guide her, his whispered, _let me taste you_ , helping spur on her fevered mind. She scrambled without grace, climbing towards the headboard, positioning his head between sticky thighs, his tongue tasting the evidence of her need, the skin rising in bumps at the touch, another volley of heat, another gush of wetness at the anticipation.

He held her aloft for a moment, letting her squirm and whine while she gripped the wood of the bed, the iron grip on her hips loosening, muscles quivering as she lowered down until she could feel his breath at the seam of her, fingers wrapping in his hair to ground herself with his first long lick to part her folds.

There was no holding back her sob of delight, the heat inside of her flickering in rhythm with his tongue, the need to grind down into his face halted by the nails imbedded in her skin. Her hand slipped for a moment before she readjusted, a greedy growl vibrated against her, another heady rush of heat balling up in her stomach, his nose bumping along her nub until she was rocking above him, caught in a delicious torment of trying to seek friction, end all of the build up.

A hand left her hips, settling between her legs to pry her open, fingers invading with a wet squelch, his groan of approval drowned out by her own cries. His busy mouth moved up to her button, to suck and lave, the digits wrapped tightly in her cunt, stretching as he rubbed and crooked, causing her to bite down on her arm to muffle her wail.

Bright lights were appearing behind her closed eyelids, body beginning to shudder with overwhelming pleasure, strung tightly as she used him mercilessly, until she snapped, body seizing with the weight of her release, taking her with a force that drained her muscles, leaving her dazed with pleasure.

Her own raspy pants echoed in her ears, the warm thrum of blood buzzing through her veins as she slumped over him, the solid bulk of him still between shaky thighs. Rough hands smoothed over trembling flanks, soft kisses pressed to her belly and any other bit of skin he could reach as she tried to rouse from her stupor, wits scattered on the wind.

The low rumble of his voice started, words muffled but still sparking excitement even as she was lulled, the fingertips trailing over her skin, waking her senses back up, the need that had been momentarily slaked roaring back to life.

Before she could adjust or move, he was gone, her balance uneven until a warm body pressed to her back, cock nudging against her entrance, muscles stiffening in surprise. But he was crooning soft words, hand settling between her thighs with determination, fondling her swollen cunt until she was a mewling mess, forgetting any apprehension as his mouth moved along her spine.

When he pulled she went with him, settling back on him, his forehead pressed between her shoulder blades as she reached for him, cock heavy in her hand as she lifted and fumbled, settled slowly down onto him with the pleasurable ache of being stretched apart, his breath hot on her skin.

Gasping, she gave herself a moment to absorb the sensations, the fullness inside of her, the feel of his flesh pressed close, her nails digging into his forearm. Leaning back farther, his hands stroked her stomach, her name whispered against her skin, the fire within consuming her, reaching out to gather him in the flames.

She shifted, rising up to fall back down, the air leaving her, hands wrapping around her waist to help her move, teeth scraping along her neck. Mind emptying, she just felt, his hand sliding down to settle where they were joined, her eyes closing with the rapid build up inside, keeping it locked away tightly, crying out his name as he shifted, skin prickling as his cock rubbed _that_ spot inside of her.

It was breaking her down, thighs trembling with effort, a losing battle as she battered herself against him, ready to break apart in his arms, blinded by the steady feel of his fingers stroking her nub.

With a flex of muscle he had them moving, settling her on hands and knees, a hand smoothing down her back as she collapsed into the bed, bottom raised, his cock still buried deep within. She groaned when he withdrew before pushing back in, testing her limit, the angle, the fullness almost overwhelming, hands bunching in the fabric below her. 

His own sounds were greedy, as were his motions, hips snapping into her and she let herself move with him, mind emptying of everything but him. She was going to shatter, come undone completely, her body fighting it for a moment, his hand twisting her hair off her neck, mindless nonsense spoken into the newly bared skin. She let go, breaking apart in his arms, his weight keeping her collected and whole, safe as she lost herself, his own stuttering movements indicating he was not far behind.

She was limp and receptive as he found his own release, her heart beating wildly as he filled her up, body collapsing completely onto her smaller form, eyes tightly shut as she absorbed sensation, the realization of what she had let him do, the wonderment that she hadn’t felt the panic of helplessness.

It was still raining, the air cooled as he shifted, sticky skin pulling apart and she blinked slowly, letting herself be grounded by his hand gripping her hip, the steady pattern of his breath on the back of her neck as he rolled them to their sides, his content hum as he drew her closer.

Searching within, she looked for any regret, poking for the soft feel of a bruise, but finding nothing except contentment, warmth and affection growing into more, the promise of what might be. Craning her neck and shoulders around, she found his mouth, gave him a gentle kiss, lingering with a quiet happiness, his fingers stroking her cheek.

“Daenerys.” His eyes were soft again, swelling her heart, his touch soothing as she savored it. “I’m glad I found you.”

Wriggling around to face him, she moved her hand over his side, enjoying the feel of his flesh. “I could tell.” She teased, her nose bumping into his.

“For more reasons than that.” His pout made her chuckle. “I was, or I am, so angry about what happened-“ his hand closed over hers where it rested on a scar, “-what I’ve learned. But you make me forget some of it.”

She reached out again, flicking his bottom lip with her tongue, letting him catch her mouth, linger for a moment to savor the taste of him. “ _Se mōrī zaldrīzoti issi hēnkirī_.”

Dark eyes slowly flickered open, his forehead pressing to hers. “What does that mean?”

Allowing a small smile, she felt the ragged skin of his chest beneath her fingers. “That it is time for you to start learning Valyrian. We are the last dragons, Jon Snow.”

His chest heaved against her, a ragged breath escaping him. “I’m not ready to be Aegon Targaryen, I’ve just learned how to be Jon Snow.”

It was a jagged crack in her heart, a splinter breaking free for him, for what he had endured. . “But you are, Jon, you’re a wolf, but you are also a dragon. I’ve seen it. And I think it has always been there, you just need to accept it.”

Fingers tangled in her hair, a soothing pull on her scalp. “I cannot help but think, my parents started a war.”

Pulling herself tighter to him, she let him see her fire, knowing soon his own would ignite. “So, let us end it.”

**~*~Se mōris~*~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Se mōris- The End
> 
> Se mōrī zaldrīzoti issi hēnkirī- The last dragons are together
> 
>  
> 
> There we have it, the conclusion of my first canon (ish) fic that came from the want to have Jon in gladiator garb and the need for smut.
> 
> Thank you for coming along for the ride.
> 
> Now my focus shifts back to writing Scars.. keep an eye out.


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